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CilEMRIGHT DEPOSm 










HOMER POTTER BRANCH 

Publisher Sumner Gazette 
Member Iowa Press Since 1882 


IOWA LEGENDS 
AND 
LYRICS 


BY HOMER P. BRANCH 
(UNCLE hV)) 

/ \ 

Read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 

And lend to the rhyme of the poet 
The beauty of thy voice. ' 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 

And as silently steal away. \ 

— Longfellow.. 

f 


1916 

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 
Sumner, Iowa 


THEY HAD NO POET 


By Ti^<ris, or the streams of Ind, 

Ere Colchis rose, or Babylon, 

Forgotten empires dreamed and sinned, 
Setting tall towns against the dawn. 

Which, when the proud sun smote upon, 
Flashed fire for fire, and pride for pride. 
Their names were .... Ask oblivion! . . 
They had no poet, and they died. 

Queens, dusk of hair and tawny skinned. 
That loll where fellow leopards tawn. 

Their hearts are dust before the wind. 

Their loves, that shook the world, are wan! 

Passion is mighty, but anon 
Strong Death has Romance for his bride; 
Their legends .* . . . Ask oblivion! 

They had no poet and they died. 

Heroes, the braggart trumps that dinned' 
Their futile triumphs, monarch pawn. 

Wild tribesmen, kingdoms disciplined. 

Passed like a whirlwind, and were gone. ‘ • 

They built with bronze and gold and brawn. 
The inner vision still denied; 

Their conquests .... Ask oblivion! 

They had no poet and they died. 

Dumb oracles, and priests withdrawn. 

Was it but flesh they deified? 

Their gods were .... Ask oblivion! . . . 
They had no poet and thCiV died. 

—Don Marquis hi ‘s ‘Dreams and Dust. 



IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 
Copyright 1916 by Homer RBranch 





PART I 

IOWA POEMS, HISTORICAL, DESCRIPTIVE, 
SENTIMENTAL 

By Little Wapsie’s Stream 41 

Cedar River Memories 13 

Iowa Booster Jingles 46 

Iowa Song 30 

Ode to Spirit Lake 39 

Ode to the Cedar River 33 

Our Sod House Pioneers 22 

Song of Corbley’s Grove 19 

Switzerland of Iowa, The 9 

The New Annie Laurie 32 

The Sickle 52 

PART II 

POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND PHILOSOPHY 

A mother’s Heart 64 

A Picture From Memory 59 

A Dreamland Experience 78 

Brownie Boy . 69 

Choir of the Daybreak, The 63 

Crabapple Blossoms 66 

Fairy Girl 74 

Fandango, The 65 

Frances E. Willard 91 

Friendship’s Roses 90 

Gleams of Light 100 

Love 95 

Poetry’s Thought 65 


Recollections 81 

The Old Treasures 66 

The Galilean: A Study of the Christ 96 

The Bell Cow “Cream” 82 

Troubled Sleep 87 

Visions of the Bye and Bye 61 

PART III 

INDIAN LEGENDS OF IOWA 

Chimongha, The Banished Sachem, A Legend of 

the Iowa River 103 

Courtship of Vinowaz 169 

Prairie Flower of the Poncas, A Legend of the 

Little Sioux 146 

Puckawatama’s Revenge, A Legend of the Wap- 

sipinicon. 154 

The Pawnee Lovers, A Legend of Lost Island 

Lake 135 

The Sawkee Princess, A Legend of the Nishna- 
botna 163 

PAGE END VERSES 

Generous Iowa 162 

Kind Words 134 

October in Iowa 153 

Our Love for Iowa 180 

PART IV 

HUMAN INTEREST STORIES IN RHYME, AND 
PIONEER DIALECT VERSE 

Bill’s Schoolma’am: or, The Power of Love’s In- 
spiration 183 

Cowboy Jack’s Story, As He Told It to the Scout . 203 


Farmer Jones and the Country Editor. ........ 232 

Farmer Jones on Abraham Lincoln 244 

Farmer Jones on Spring Poets 242 

How Joe Made Good 197 

Josh and City Life 248 

Josh and the County Fair 227 

Josh’s Ideas of Heaven 216 

Josh’s Old Oaken Sawbuck 221 

Josh’s Old Trick Donkey 224 

Josh’s Questions 219 

PAGE END VERSES 

O What is so Welcome? 215 

The Babe at Play 247 

The Farmer’s Song 202 

The Sleigh man’s Song 226 

Village Friendship 231 

PART V 

BOYHOOD RHYMES AND SCHOOLD AY JINGLES 

A Lover’s Confession 255 

A Summer Idyl 253 

A Treasure She 270 

Four Charms 274 

First Day of School 284 

Glories Now in View 259 

Good When Combined 271 

In the Dream-Drifting Waltz 270 

Last Day of School 285 

Love Is a Flower 251 

Man’s A Fool 274 

Cde to the Coyote 269 


Only Thy Face 253 

On the Square 262 

Phantasma Inferno 263 

Picnic Joy 256 

Pink Roses 257 

Poesy’s Golden Ag^e 275 

Seraphine Visitors 268 

She Flitted Past........ 251 

“Snowed In”. . . . . .* 259 

Song of the Arabian Prince 276 

Such Is Life 271 

The Bachelor’s Delight 267 

The Blizzard 274 

The Boy Trapper 286 

The Hearts of Men Are Braver 260 

The Home Team Wins 4 to 0 286 

The Knocker 261 

The Lover’s Farewell 258 

The Lover’s Tribute 252 

The Nightmare 265 

The Old Oak Tree ....257 

The School Bully 283 

The Selfish Seer 254 

The Spirit Bride 272 

The Waltz 271 

The Whisperers 261 

The Wolf 282 

Thine Eyes 254 

To A Friend 262 

To A Tear 260 

Youthful Assurance 285 


PART 1 

IOWA POPMS 
HISTORICAL 
DESCRIPTIVE AND 
SENTIMENTAL 




30 «ja, mith ski?s af bluB, 


are Inuera, me and nnit 



/ 



\ 





\ 


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I 

> 


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V 


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THE FALLING SPRING 

In Martin Pels’ “Falling Spring Park,” Auburn Twp., Fayette Co. 
See “The Switzerland of Iowa.” Page 9 










THE SWITZERLAND OF IOWA 


Fayette, Winneshiek, Allamakee and 
Clayton Counties 

They may talk about the grandeur of the scenes 
across the seas, 

The river Rhine, Kilarney lakes, the Alps and 
Pyrenees, 

The Congo and the Nile, and the Vale of old 
Cashmere, 

And all the grand and stately sights found else- 
where, far and near; 

But give me a week to wander mid the beauties 
that abound 

In “The Switzerland of Iowa,” “the happy hunting 
ground,” 

Where the Volga, and the Turkey, and the Upper 
Iowa, 

Flash their ripples in the sunlight of a mid- 
west perfect day. 

For me, the beetling bluffs along the Yellow river 
vale. 

Or the templed hills and vistas and the woodlands 
that prevail 

Along the Mississippi river, or the pleasant roads 
that wind 

Down the coulees of a hundred creeks, of nature’s 
rarest kind. 


JDWA i:e(?enbs and lyrics^ 


In ‘"The Switzerland of lowa’T Ah kere is pure* 
delight. 

When the goldfineb is- a singing and the snn is; 
shining bright^ 

And the earn is in the tasseh and the honeystickle’s: 
bloom 

Is fragrant on the morning air with tonic-rare 
perfume. 


For me,, the sylvan beauty which surrounds that 
scenic gem, 

The Falling Springy near Aubuml Here is a 
diadem 

That is fit for a crown jewel in Queen Nature’s 
coronet; 

The spot where, in the days of old, the Indian 
sweethearts met 

To plight their troth; ’twas also said that in this 
fairy vale 

Brave warriors came to sacrifice to the wargods 
of the trail. 

Hail to this witching spot of earth, which helped to 
bring a name 

To “The Switzerland of Iowa” and make it known 
fame! 


For me, a fish pole, line and book, on Crane creek^s 
purling stream, 

For me, ^an automobile ride, oh a road that is a 
dream, 


THE SWITZERLAND OP IOWA 


11 


*Neath hanging boughs, past harvest fields, across 
Jow singing brooks. 

O’er hills and dales, where flowers peep from many 
bonny nooks, 

In “The Switzerland of lowa^’J And let us sing the 
praise 

Of all this radiant region, that in radiant summer 
days 

Brings faith and kope charity and joy of heart and 
soul. 

And helps each earnest hustler to win the golden 
goal 

For me, a vision from The Heights at old McGregor 
town. 

O’er the mighty Mississippi, and the steamboats 
coming down; 

For me, an exploration of the Ice Cave, there to 
seek 

Diversion odd, uncanny, in the heart of Winne- 
shiek; 

Or in the good old summer time to climb Mt. 
Hosmer’s side, 

While the oriole is singing to his winsome little 
bride. 

In “The Switzerland of Iowa.'’ Ah, here the soul 
can dream 

Beneath blue skies, in fragrant airs, mid scenes 
that are supreme. 


12 


IOWA LEGEND'S AND LYRICS 


For me, a day or two among the river county hills. 

To fish along the larger streams, to wander dowa 
the rills. 

Or penetrate quaint shady nooks at leisure, and enjoy 

The various and charming moods of Nature wild 
and coy. 

Or to visit Dutton's cave, where the goblin and 
the gnome 

Could dwell in genial habitat and find an ample 
home! 

“The Switzerland of Iowa’'! Ah name so well 
bestowed, 

A region rich for artist's brush, . and poet's song or 
ode. 

For me, a glimpse, e'er and anon, of villages that 
rest 

Like gems of, beauty rich and rare, upon the 
maiden breast 

Of “The Switzerland of Iowa"! they add to Nature's 
charms 

As do diamonds, gold and rubies to maiden neck 
and arms; 

For the villages, with pretty homes, schools, 
churches, thriving marts. 

Show an eloquence of beauty and of culture, where 
the hearts 

And minds and souls are filled with uplift and the 
fine 

Pride and aspiration that tend toward the divine. 


CEDAR RIVER MEMORIES 


CEDAR RIVER MEMORIES 


Pardon, friendf my idle dreaming; 
Pardon, if I fail to greet you. 

Seeming distant, absent minded; 
Pardon, for this strange abstraction 
For today in recollection 
Once again I tread the pathways. 

Once again I climb the hillsides. 

Once again I see the the waters. 

Once again I feel the gracious 
Shade and comfort, and the beauty 
Of my old haunts on the Cedar- 
Days of old, on the Red Cedar! 

Queen and fairest of all rivers! 

Once again I see the basswoods 
Strong and graceful in their beauty^ 
And they sigh a mystic language, 

And emit a pleasant fragrance. 

As the summer winds caress them. 
Lifting in their arms transparent. 
Tossing boughs and hanging blossoms. 
Once again I see the maples. 

Sturdy oaks and swaying poplars, 
Grand old elms and drooping willows 
Of the Cedar river wildwood. 

See them in fond recollection. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYUICS 


l4 


Grimly stalk the giant shadows 
In the morning through this wildwood, 
As the breezes from the river 
Coax the great trees into swaying 
To and fro in grand abeisance; 

Proudly in their solemn silence 
Move the shadows hither, thither, 

As the stirring winds of evetide 
Push and crowd among the treetops; 
And at noon among the thick boughs. 
Even when the days are hottest, 

Cooling draughts are always moving 
Like the soothing breath of fairies. 

Clear and sparkling lays the river 
With the sunlight bright upon it. 

Only where a hill abruptly 

Lifts its brow of scraggy limestone 

And throws shadows o’er the water, 

Or the basswoods, leaning outward. 
Spread reflections on the river; 

But the stream is just as pretty 
In the shade as in the sunlight. 

When the robe of night is fallen. 

And the moon deploys her splendors 
O’er the surface of the water. 

Then the black bass and the sunfish. 
Full of playfulness and frolic. 

Leap into the mellow moonbeams. 

And enjoy the night-time’s freshness, 


CEDAR -RIVER MEMORIES 


15 


And absorb the fresh air needed 
To support them on the morrow 
When in deep pools lowly hiding 
They seek refuge from the anglers 
And the fierce glare of the sunshine. 

Sing, 0 song, of the Red Cedar 
And its fairy-peopled woodland; 

Where the green ferns and wild flowers 
Grow in all their native beauty; 

Grow in wonderful profusion! 

Feast, 0 soul, upon the beauty 
Of the bluffs and rugged hillsides, 
Fashioned in the splendid sculpture 
Of the Artist of the Ages, 

Into thousand times ten thousand 
Landscapes that delight the vision; 

Feast, until the joy of fullness 
Is a rapture of elation! 

Here the bonny lads and lasses 
Love in picnics to assemble. 

Love to scamper o’er the greensward; 
Eat their luncheon ’neath the shadows 
Of the great trees widely spreading, 

And take boat rides on the river. 

Here the young man and the maiden 
Love to stroll in days of summer. 

While the goldfinch and the robin. 
Warbling thrush and gentle linnet. 


r 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Pipe and chatter in the treetops^ 

Sing and twitter in the bushes; 

And the lovers, bird and human, 

Feel the comfort and the beauty 
Of this playground in the shadows. 

Of this park by nature fashioned. 

Here the town-worn man and woman 
In July and torrid August 
Love to spend a long vacation. 

Tenting in the quasi-forest, 

By some spring, or rill, or bluffside. 

Each and all can play or ramble. 

Rest upon the gracious greensward. 
Swing at ease in drowsy hammocks. 
Take a plunge in the cool river, 

Wade or fish or go a* boating. 

And enjoy sweet nature’s pastimes 
In this pleasant nook of nature. 

Go, 0 friend, when winds of summer 
Dally with the playful leaflets. 

Go, when sun and cloud commingle 
In a partnership of beauty. 

To the banks of the Red Cedar, 

Go and see another Eden, 

See another Vale of Cashmere — 

Yes, and fairer far than either! 

You will then forgive my dreaming. 
Arid will be yourself a dreamer, 


When the freshets of the springtime 
Swell the volume of the river 
Till the willows on the shoresides 
Seem to grow out in the water, 

And the sun behind the clouds is, 

And the world is chill and lonesome. 
Then I gaze upon the current. 

On the current wide and sullen. 

And my heart is filled with yearning, 
Indefinable, unsounded — 

With a longing that o’erwhelms me. 



View of High Water on the Cedar River near Waterloo 
Courtesy Matt Parrott’s & Sons Co. 

Till there comes a sweet reaction. 

And the light of inner visions 
Throws a luster o’er the landscape, 

Throws a glory o’er the water. 

Then 1 see the strength and beauty 
Of the swollen, splendid river, 

And my soul seems borne in triumph 
On the flood toward great achievements. 





‘SONG OF C0RBLY'’S GROVE 


19 


Full of charming, happy visions. 

Absent minded in the presence 

Of the friends who miss your greeting. 


SONG or CORBLY^S GROVE 

A kindly faced old gentleman 1 met upon the train, 

Spoke feelingly, with moisture m his eye, 

“‘You’ve liv^ed in Westgate, Iowa? My boy, I can’t 
refrain 

From wishing you a mansion in the sky, 

For you surely know the pleasures of a stroll in 
Corbly’s Grove, 

And of picnics with the youngsters there, and all 
the happy drove; 

0 where e’er I chance to rove, 

1 remember Corbly’s Grove, 

It was there 1 met my sweetheart years ago; 

She was pretty as could be, 

And proved always true to me. 

Her voice was like an angel’s, sweet and low.” 

He told of jolly gatherings ’neath the spreading 
oaks that shade 

The banks of gentle Stowe creek’s winding 
stream, 

Of picnics that the young folks had upon the fairy 
glade, 

Of lover’s talk and lover’s happy dream, 


20 roWA LEGENDS AND -LYRrCS^ 

And while be spoke be shook my band in warm and 
friendly way,. 

A smile upon his fine old face,, and oncer again did say,. 
'‘O where e’er I chance to rove,. 

I remember Corbly^s Grove, 

It was there I met my sweetheart years ago; 
She was pretty as could be. 

And proved always true to me. 

Her voice was like an angel’s, sweet and low.”* 

He asked of friends of other days, of some now 
dead and gone. 

And some still living in the neighborhood; 

While nearer to life’s sunset he looked back upon 
the dawn. 

And mid youtbtide’s recollections dear he stood; 

A rose was on bis aged cheek, from warmth with- 
in his breast. 

As once again he said to me, with earnest, grace- 
ful zest, 

“0 where e'er I chance to rove, 

I remember Corbly s Grove, 

It was there I met my sweetheart years ago; 
She was pretty as could be. 

Arid proved always true to me, 

Her voice was like an angel’s, sweet and low.”* 

He told of swings and games and romps and lunch- 
eons in the wood, 

With boys and girls now roaming with the 
blest; 

Of quiet strolls with her he loved, with her so fair 


‘SOTN'O OF COKBLY^S GRO'^HE 


and ^ood. 

While they talked and planned at Cupid^s 
dear behest, 

“^‘And so yoti'’ve lived down there, my boy? You 
love the dear old place? 

'This he asked, so wistfully! then said^ with gentle 
grace, 

■‘“‘O where e’er I chance to rove^ 

I remember Corbly’s grove, 

It was there I met my sweetheart years ago; 
She was pretty as could be. 

And proved always true to me. 

Her voice was like an angel’s, sweet and low.” 

And when we reached the station where we had to 
say good bye, 

I noticed that he tapped the window pane, 

And 1 looked out where he pointed as he gave the 
low, glad cry, 

my sweethearfs here to meet me at the^ 
train!*' 

And when he’d kissed his aged wife, still charming 
fair to see, 

He proudly smiled, and, turning, called in farewell 
back to me, 

”0 where e’er I chance to rove, 

I remember Corblv’s Grove, 

It was there I met my sweetheart years ago; 
She's as pretty as can be, 

She's been always true to me, 

Her voice is like an angel's, sweet and low. " 


IOWA LEGENDS AND L TRICES 




OUR SOD HOUSE PIONEERS 

Gof O Tbouglitr back to* the ’^60’s^ 

When Lowa^s western prairies 
Were a garden of wild flowers^ 

A broad fairyland in springtime^ 

And a hearen in tfie summer^ 

And a paradise in Autumn, 

When the daisy and the gentian 
And the wild rose bloomed in beauty 
On the million sod bound acres. 

Mid the bluejoint and the gum weed. 

And the buncbgrass green and pretty; 

When the prairie hen knd wild duck 
Reared their broods nor feared the hunts- 
man, 

And the rivers teemed with game fish, 
Beaver, muskrats, mink and otter; 

When in spring and early winter 
Birds of passage filled the heavens; 

When in Autumn the dry grasses. 

Ripe and sere, were set on fire 
Through mischance or lawless purpose. 

And the rampant prairie fires. 

Like a thousand tortured demons 
Struggling in the gloom of night-time. 
Swept the plains with nladding fury 


OUR SOD HOUSE PIONEERS 'SS 

From horizon to horizon; 

When the fierce and raging blizzard. 

In the weird and lonely winter, 

Drove Ihe snow so fast and furious 
That the drift would make one dizzy. 

And oft blinded the wayfarer. 

Causing him to grow bewildered 
And to wander weak and weary, 

Numb with cold, distressed, disheartened. 
Happy if he did not perish; 

When the gray wolf, fierce and scrawny. 
Roamed in freedom o’er the prairie, 

Seeking plunder in the darkness, 

Oft a menace and a peril. 

And at night aroused the echoes 
With his fiendish yips and howling. 

And when thou hast sung the beauty 
Of those prairies wild and lonely. 

And the hardships and the dangers 
Which in those days they presented. 

Sing, 0 Song, of the homesteader. 

Hardy toiler, brave and honest, 

Who with pluck and sturdy manhood 
On those prairies first located. 

On his tree-claim or pre-emption. 

In his humble sodden shanty. 

0 that house so warm and cozy, 

0 that shelter for the loved ones, 

The dear wife and romping children! 

Those sod walls! Ah! every layer 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Of the sod as they were builded 
Had the warmest benediction 
Of the God who loves the couragre 
And the manhood and the spirit 
That inspire the heart to grapple 
With the destinies of fortune 
In a new, unsettled country! 

0 sing not of mossgrown castles, 
Beetling towers nor dark dungeons! 

0 sing not of ancient Egypt, 

Nor the luxuries of Asia, 

Nor the deeds of ancient Romans, 

Nor of battles, nor of conquests; 

Sing not of the gods nor heroes 
Of the mystical past ages. 

Nor -of life in brilliant parlors. 

Nor of grandeur, pomp nor riches; 

Sing not. Song, of lords and princes. 
Nor of monuments nor ruins, 

But sing thou of the homesteader 
And his sod house on the prairie. 

Ah! that sod house, dark and gloomy, 
A mere black spot on the landscape! 

0 what cheer there was within it! 

0 what golden light came flooding 
Through the deepset little windows. 
Wavm and cozy in the winter. 

Cool and gracious in the summer, 
Better was it than a palace, 

Better than a gilded mansion. 


OUR SOD HOUSE PIONEERS 


25 


Sing, 0 Song, of the erection 
Of the house that was the cradle 
Of the enterprise and glory 
Seen now in the fields and meadows, 
Ample barns and roads and fences, 

Busy towns and pretty houses. 

Scattered out like dreams of beauty 
O’er Iowa’s western prairies! 

And thus the house of sod was builded: 
Strips of tough sod, from a furrow 
Broken from the close-grown edges 
Of a slough, were laid in layers 
’Long the sides and ends to corners, 
Earth side up, grass side turned under, 
Until four good walls were finished; 

Then supported by rough timbers 
With a roof the house was covered. 

And the roof was made in this wise: 

First the ’‘rafters,’' three long timbers, 
\yere thrown lengthway o’er the 
structure. 

And were carefully adjusted; 

Then green willows from the river 
Were laid crossway o’er the timbers, 
Covered o’er with flags and rushes. 

Then of long slough grass a layer; 

This was sheeting clean and ample 
For the final sodden cover. 

Mounded up to shed the water. 


26 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYEICS 


One rude door was all the entrance. 
Light went in at two small windows. 

One at either end inserted; 

And while building this rude dwelling, . 
The homesteader and his dear ones 
Camped like Gypsies in their wdgon, 

In their wayworn “prairie schooner,” 
That had brought them from New 
England, 

From the old home back in York State, 
Or some point less far in eastward. 

In this humble home their baggage 
Was bestowed as well as could be; 

On the wall a few old pictures 
Treasured from fair days of childhood, 
Saved from out the sale at auction 
Just before they started westward; 

On the shelf some books and trinkets 
Dear to each one of the household — 

And the clock, their old timekeeper, 

With the Bible standing by it. 

Chests and trunks held clothes and 
dishes, 

A home-made stand was desk and table; 
From the roof suspended curtains 
Between the beds were the partitions. 
O’er the door 4he trusty rifle. 

And the fowling-piece beside it. 

With the powder horn and shot pouch, 
And the hunter’s knife and game bag, 




“BY LITTLE WAPSIE’S STREAM” 

Scene Near Sumner. One of the Author’s Favorite Haunts 
Photo by Dean, Sumner 


'OTR SOD HOUSE PIONEERS ^9 

Made a picturesque appearance. 

Viewed with pride and satisfaction 
By the menfolk of the family. 

Far from woodland or coal market. 

Nature had provided fuel 

In the coarse grass of the bottoms, 

Which in bundles tightly. twisted, 

Burned and crackled ’’neath the kettles, 

And sent out a warmth as cheerful 
As a more enduring fuel. 

Thus the early western settler 
On his claim a house erected; 

Thus the pioneer invaded. 

With a heart strong and intrepid, 

Lands to settlement thrown open, 

And was there to welcome others 
With his house and little cornfield, 

Patch of grain and herd of cattle. 

In such humble habitations 
Lived the pioneers like gophers. 

Yet in those very homes were nutured 
Virtues such as hardly prosper 
Mid the luxuries and languor 
Of a home life rich and splendid. 

From those humble homes a culture, 

Such as womanhood and manhood 
Of the nobler sorts, there issued. 


IOWA LEOENTDS AND LYRICS^ 


0 the cbristain, sturdy manhood 
0 the womanhood there fashioned!; 
Pillars in our statehood structure^ 
And in social life, and commerce, 
Enterprise and education, 

S-trong and mighty in their virtue. 
Bounteously blessed with wisdom,. 
Noble,, true, the souls of honor. 

Bless each flitting recollection. 

Of the sturdy, brave homesteader, 
And his sod house on the prarie! 
Bless our pioneers, 0 Master f 
Thou who lov'st the noble hearted^ 
Thou who noble hearts created! 


IOWA SONG 

Iowa, Tis of thee. 

Fair State of Industry, 

Of thee I sing; 

State where the tasseled corn. 

Of wealth and beauty born, 

Glows in the purple morn, 

A field“grown king. 

State where the school house thrives, 
Enriching myriad lives 
Every year, 


IOWA SONG 


1 love thy common sense, 
Splendid intelligence, 

Learned magnificence — 

Hold them most dear. 

My prond, grand Iowa! 

■Or whether grave or gay 
My passing mood, 

I love thy prairies green, 

Thy woods and hills that lean 
O’er streams and lakes serene. 
Thy plenitude! 

Let instrument and voice 
Lend utterances choice 
To swell thy fame; 

Let all thy children dear, 
Mothers that we revere. 

Thy fathers far and near. 

Sing thy loved name. 

Give Iowa a cheer, 

A rousing faithful cheer, 

Give three times three! 
Cheer for her constant gain, 
Broad fields of waving grain. 
Her wealth of brawn and brain, 
Her chivalry! 


IOWA LEG'ENDS ANT) LYRICS^ 


THE XEW AXNIE LAUHIE 

Turkey River’s banks are bonnie 
Where early falls the dew^ 

There me and Annie Laurie 
Made up^ the promise true, 

Made u^ the promise true,. 

We our hearts to each did give^ 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I would forever live. 

Her form is like an angeTs, 

Her smile is like the dawn, 

Her face it is the fairest 
That e’re the sun shone on. 

That e’er the sun shone on. 

And so brightly beams her eye 
That when she looks upon me 
[ never want to die. 

Like dew on the meadow lying 
Is the fall of her fairy feet. 

Like winds in the maples sighing 
Her voice is low and sweet. 

Her voice is low and sweet. 

And she’s all the world to me. 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I’d live eternally. 


33 


ODE TO THE CEDAR RIVER 


ODE TO THE CEDAR RIVER 

Legended stream] I stroll 
’Neath the shade of the trees 
On thy shore, and my soul. 

Dreaming soul! floats in ease 
On the sunbeams that dart 
O’er thy vine-vested shore — 

Yea, my soul and my heart 
Love the light that floats o’er 
Thy soft-flowing beauty— 

Thy light-rippling beauty! 

Lovely birds dip their wings 
In thy silvery course. 

And the lark, aS it sings 
With an exquisite force. 

Spreads its pinions and flies 
Far away down the vale, 

Where thy gentle flood lies, 

A pelucid, bright trail. 

He sings of thy beauty — 

Thy shimmering beauty! 

I look on thy current 
As it dances along — 

Thy clear, sparkling current 
As it laughs in a song 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Of harmonious glee! 

And bright eyes of lovers 
In a vision I see 
’Neath the bloom that hovers 
O’er thy romantic dells — 

O’er thy sirenized dells! 

And I think of the braves 
And the maidens of yore — 

Of the proud, painted braves, 

And the brown maids of yore — 
How they happily sought 
Thy serene waterside 
Ann their love-phrases wrought 
As they looked on thy tide 
On their quaint, mirrored forms — 
On their strong, graceful forms! 

And in fancy I see 
The canoes of braves. 

For the bold hunters, free. 
Traveled oft on thy waves; 

The warhoop echoes still 
In the air round about. 

Aye, for savages kill 
And take pride in the rout 
And the frenzies of war — 

The wild terrors of war! 

But the wild man is gone. 

And his primative ways. 


ODE TO THE CEDAR RIVER 


35 


Like the darkness at dawn, 

Have sunk back in the rays 
Of a civilized day; 

On thy turffed banks now 
Happy white children play, 

And the husbandman’s plow 
Cuts the loam in thy vales — 
Fertile loam in thy vales! 

Where fierce wolf and vulture. 
Pierced the gloom of the wood 
Now stand homes of culture. 
Filled with all that is good 
Of wisdom and beauty 
And of firm enterprise 
And high sense of duty; 

And the prisioner,s cries 
Come no more from the stake — 
From the blazing war-stake! 

No more does the wild beast, 
Crazed with hunger aud thirst. 
Prowl abroad for a feast, 

Ever fearing the worst 
From a stealthier foe 
Or the hunter’s sharp spear; 

No more does the mild roe 
On thy greensward appear 
With twin fawns at her side — 
Pretty fawns at her side! 


36 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


From the herd the meek kme 
And the soft-hearted sheep 
Wander down to the mine 
Of the water, and deep 
lu the cool shadows flung 
From overhanging bowers 
Rest carelsssly among 
The rich growth of flowers 
That carpet thy valleys — ^ 

That nod in our valleys! 

The purple of Autumn 
Proudly hangs on thy hills 
The deep gold of Autumn 
Tosses bright on thy hills — 
And the leaves whisper low 
Of deft Fairy fingers 
Painting with brightest glow, 

The leaflet that lingers. 

So they all wish to stay — 

Like us all wish to stay! ' 

A rapturous feeling 
Fills the breadth of my soul — 
Unspeakable feeling 
Enlarges my soul — 

As I walk in the glow 
Of thy beauty, 0 stream! 

0 my thoughts, how they flow— 
How in grandeur 1 dream 
As I stroll down thy banks — 
Down thy radiant banks! 


Attractive Scene on Spirit Lake 

To be afloat in a gallant boat on Spirit Lake’s proud wave, 

To spread a sail before the gale and make the craft behave, 

Or take a plunge like a muskalunge in the waters fresh and fine 

With the bathing throng on the white beach long, brings joy to this soul of mine. 













TOE TO SPIRIT EAKE 


ODE TO SPIRIT LAKE 


Minne-wauken! I gaze 
On thy lustre-flecked breast^ 
And its pale sheen conveys 
To my soul’s gloomy rest 
Vague impressions; the night. 
And the spectrelike calm 
Of the moon’s pallid light, 

Like mystical balm 
Casts a spell o’er thy wave — 
O’er thy legended wave! 


Through the vapors 1 see 
Flitting forms as they dance 
In fantastic revelry 

Over thy swells; they advance 
In mysterious lines 

Between Earth’s sombre plain 
And High Heaven’s confines 
In lig^lts that swell and wane 
With the gleam of their eyes-^ 
Changing gleam of their eyes! 


They’re the spirits of those 
Who’ve sunk ’neath'thy waves, 
Those who m death repose 


4a 


roWA LEGENDS AND IlYRICS'- 

IMeath thy current which lavesr. 
And caresses their forms — 

Spirits that linger,, loatlr 
To depart, and in swarms 
Dance along on the growth 
Of thy shores near their dead — 
Near the bones of their deadl 

Now in shade, now in light. 

They alternately glide,. 

In a crazy, wild flight,. 

And ne’er deign ta abide 
For a moment in place:.— 

Zephyr- tossed and bestrewir 
They engage in a race 
By the light of the moon,. 

And in wilder ed flight vie — 

In phantasmic flight viel 


They dance along on thy shore 
Like light sylph-shadows blows 
And in concert deplore,, 

With a low- whispered moan 
My intrusion, while I 
Stroll along on thy strand,. 

And my steps in reply 
Soft-resound from the sand,. 

As 1 moodily dream — 

Lonely, moodily dream! 


■HY 'LITTLE YYAPS1e'’S STKEAHa 


4^1 


BY LITTLE WAPSIE’S STREAM 


They may talk about great mountains, capped with 
eternal snows. 

About fair southern valleys, where the sweet mag- 
nolia grows, 

Niagara Falls, and Mammoth Cave, or rapids, lakes 
and seas. 

About cold Arctic splendors, or the California 
breeze. 

But give me a day of leisure^ and a chance to stroll 
and dream 

In peerless, grand old Iowa, by Little Wapsie’s 
Stream. 

The world is full of beauty and I’ve often wished 
to stand 

By Afric’s golden river or on India’s coral strand. 

Or see old France or Italy, or climb the Matterhorn, 

Or walk the streets of Bethlehem where the Son of 
Man was born, 

But to travel is denied me-^yet I can stroll and 
dream 

’Neath the blue skies of Iowa, by Liitle Wapsie’s 
Stream. 

There’s nothing quite so pretty as the beauty that 
one sees, 


r 




42 


roWA LEGENDS A^STD LYRTCl? 


When the blossoms hang in glory on the wild 
crabapple trees, 

Or the goldenrod glows richly from the banks; 
along the road, 

Or the cornfields are in tassel^ or the meadows 
being mowed, 

Or when startled bob-whites fly up from the path- 
way's sunny gleam, 

In summer-sweetened Iowa,, by Little Wapsie’s 
Stream. 

They may talk about the moonlight on the ocean 
wild and deep. 

About the whispering, sighing winds that through 
the pine woods creep. 

But for me the campfire's comfort, where the 
embers, glowing red, 

Now and then send stray sparks upward through 
the oak boughs overhead. 

And darkness settles round about, and quiet reigns 
supreme 

Beneath the dappled, moonlit clouds by Little 
Wapsie's Stream. 

For me a tent or wigwam on a hot night in July, 

Or a “sleep" out in the open, underneath the 
summer sky, 

With the hoot-owl scolding sleepily the saucy 
whippoorwill. 

And a loan wolf, far out, howling, now and then, 
until 


BY LITTLE WAPSIE’S STREAM 


43 


Silence comes, and wrapped m thought I fall asleep 
and dream 

Of shadows, stars, and wildwood sounds by Little 
Wapsie’s Stream. 


For me a story telling group around the campfire’s 
glow. 

With tales of prowess, fairy lore, Indian fights, 
and so. 

And recollections of the past, and frolics of the 
young. 

With here and there a pun or joke just at the 
right time sprung. 

Till time to “turn in,” or to sleep in open air, and 
dream 

The jolly stories o’er again, by Little Wapsie’s 
Stream. 

/ 

For me the chipmunk’s caper and the twitter of the 
birds, 

And the tinkle of the cowbells out among the pas- 
ture herds. 

And the rustle of the maple leaves atremble over- 
head, 

And the murmur of the ripples in the narrow river 
bed. 

Sunlight dimpling through the elms like pictures in 
a dream, 

And over all the clear blue sky, by Little Wapsie’s 
Stream. 


44 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


For me a picnic in the woods beneath the grateful 
shade, 

With luncheon, good and ample, spread out upon 
the glade. 

And, round about, a bunch of romping, shouting 
girls and boys, 

And lovers passing to and fro, eyes speaking un- 
told joys. 

And elders talking cheerily on every sort of theme. 

In glorious old Iowa, by Little Wapsie’s Stream. 


Many a romance has sprung from Little Wapsie’s 
shade. 

Many a stalwart swain has won the love of win- 
some maid. 

Many a winsome maid has snared the heart of 
stalwart swain, 

While strolling down the woodland paths where 
flowers and wildbirds reign. 

These kindred souls, where’er they be, 0 how they 
fondly dream 

Of happy days in Iowa, by Little Wapsie’s Stream. 


Did you ever take a plunge bath in the sand-rimmed 
swimming hole? 

Did you ever wade the shallows, filled with glee 
your boyish soul? 

Did you ever cast a hook and line for bullhead or 
for pike. 


BY LITTLE WAPSIE’S STREAM 


45 


From bridge or bank or bar or stump? Ah, it was 
something like! 

Now wasn’t it? Ah, something like! And don't you 
sometimes dream 

Of those golden days in Iowa, by Little Wapsie’s 
Stream? 

Did you ever gather hickory nuts or hunt the 
cotton-tail. 

Dig for woodchucks, climb for squirrels, or scare 
the timid quail. 

Drown out gophers, or get lost, when but a 
half grown lad? 

Did you explore the underbush, and scamper free 
and glad 

Along the cowpaths through the woods, and look 
and think and dream 

Such dream as boyhood only can, by Little Wapsie's 
Stream, 

Then I envy you your memories, for I have only 
seen 

The sylvan beauty thereabout, the gold, the red 
and green 

The groves and pools, the sward, the banks, through 
eyes of the adult. 

With less than half the pleasure that to youth-tide 
would result; 

But ne’ertheless, my hearty, 1 can stroll down 
there and dream 

A poet’s dream in Iowa, by Little Wapsie’s stream. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


IOWA BOOSTER JINGLES 

/ 

JANUARY 

Nothing like a winter’s night, 

When the stars are extra bright, 

In Iowa; 

If the sleighing it is fine. 

Or the moon makes out to shine. 

And you hold her hand in thine, 

In Iowa. 

FEBRUARY 

Ah, good fairies freely mingle 
With the sleighbells as they jingle 
In Iowa; 

And when the weather it is cold. 

They cheer the heart and make us bold. 
And brave and strong, and pure as gold. 
In Iowa. 

MARCH 

The pulse it is the strongest, 

Acd one’s lease of life the longest. 

In Iowa: 

Our skies they are the clearest. 

Our womenfolk the dearest, 

And good fortune always nearest, 

In Iowa. 


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What a gush of euphony voluminously peels 
O’er the broad and ripened fields as the fairy 
reaper wields 

Its power o’er the yields 
Of the harvest’s princely boon! 

How it swells! 

How it dwells 
On the future! How it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the loud and gladsome ringing 
Of the sickle, 

Of the sickle, sickle, sickle. 

To the rhyming and the chiming of the sickle! 

—The Sickle. Page 52. 


IOWA BOOSTER JINGLES 


49 


APRIL 

Good bye, Winter! Bye, old boy! 

We turn to Springtime’s beaming joy, 

In Iowa; 

Fair Spring, with garments new and fine, 
With winning smile, and grace divine, 
And budding promise, we are thine; 

In Iowa, 

MAY 

How cheery are the ides of spring, 

When the skylarks are awing 
In Iowa; 

When the johnny-jump-ups smile 
Up at you as you climb the stile 
To go a fishing for a while, 

In Iowa, 


JUNE 

Come to my arms, 0 queenly June! 
You are mankind’s fairest boon 
In lOwa, 

My heart of hearts is blithe and gay 
When you smile, dear June, and say! 
Would to gracious you could stay 
In Iowa. 

JULY 

O joy! the harvest time has come. 
And reapers they are going some. 

In Iowa; 


oO 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Our grain will soon be in the shock, 

A bumper crop, now I should talkl 
The farmer is “cock of the walk’’ 

In Iowa. 

AUGUST 

Would you like to gaze on Paradise? 
Then look around! Just use your eyes, 

In Iowa; 

The fields abound with stacks of gold. 
The hillsides gleam with wealth untold. 
Gardens of Eden here unfold. 

In Iowa. 

SEPTEMBER 

Cutting corn is all the go, 

September is now here, you know. 

In Iowa; 

The silos, they are being filled. 

The county fairs are being billed, 

And most of us are happy-willed. 

In Iowa. 


OCTOBER 

October, so they truly say, 

Is pleasant as the month of May, 

In Iowa; 

Weather’s warm, the skys are bright. 
The trees, they are a pretty sight. 

In gold and green and purple dight. 
In Iowa. 


IOWA BOOSTER JINGLES 


51 


NOVEMBER 

Indian Summer days are grand, 

With sunny days and zephyrs bland, 

In Iowa; 

When frosty mornings bright and clear, 
Noon hours full of warmth and cheer. 
And golden sunsets oft appear. 

In Iowa. 


DECEMBER 

Seek ye the “star of empire,” dear? 
Seek no farther — it is here. 

In Iowa; 

Our educators top the stack. 

Our politicians lead the pack. 

We forge ahead, we have the knack. 
In Iowa. 


52 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


THE SICKLES 


Fashioned after “The Bells,” one of Edgar A. Poe’s 
most fanciful poems i 

Hear the singing of the sickle — 

Teeth of steel. 

Cutting down the golden grain in a happy, wild 
refrain, 

That applauds the farmer’s gain! 

How it tinkles, tinkles, tinkles. 

In the morning hours bright; 

How it twinkles, twinkles, twinkles. 

All the day until the night. 

While the reel 

Passing o’er the nodding grain with an airy light 
refrain, 

Seems to thrill 
With the shrill 
Chirrup of the flying sickle! 

Oh, the music of the sickle, sickle, sickle, sickle, 
sickle. 

How it cackles with delight 
While the sunshine’s glittering sheen 
Dances 

With a thousand winsome glances 
On this jaunty steel machine — 

With many a coy reminder 
On the sturdy, bright new binder. 

Keeping time, time, time, 


THE SICKLES 


58 


In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the rattle and the prattle of the sickle, 

To the utter joyful flutter of the sickle, 

Of the sickle, sickle, sickle. 

To the music of the merry, cheery sickle. 

Hear the sickle in its glee — 

Hear it ring! 

What a world of richest wealth, what a world of 
food and health. 

Does it bring! 

As the beaded sweat it trickles 
Down the farmer’s breast it tickles 
Him, for don’t he hear the nickels 
Klinking, klinking, klinking, 

And all in tune? 

What a liquid ditty floats 
Over barley, wheat and oats, 

To the prairie hen that listens while she gloats 
On the stubble she will soon 
Forage for her meals! 

What a gush of euphony voluminously peels 
O’er the broad and ripened fields as the fairy reaper 
wields 

Its power o’er the yields 
Of the harvest’s princely boon! 

How it swells! 

How it dwells 

On the future! How it tells 
Of the rapture that impells 
To the loud and gladsome ringing 


54 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Of the sickle, 

Of the sickle, sickle, sickle. 

To the rhyming and the chiming of the sickle! 

Hear the chorus of the sickles — 

Over hills and in the dells. 

What a tale of joy and thrift their turbulency tells! 
Oh, the drawing of the twine with a motion half 
divine 

Through the attachment neat and fine 
That binds bundles with such grace. 

And every one in place. 

Each movement is a poem in itself! 

Not a fairy, nymph or elf. 

Of river, land or ocean, ever moved with lighter 
motion. 

And this pretty binding notion. 

How it dances 

As the good machine advances — 

Through timothy and flax and rye. 
Humming, singing merrily. 

While the harvest hands rejoice, and with whistled 
note and voice. 

Join the sickle’s jocund cheer. 

Sweet and clear. 

For the grain is cleanly cut and the bundles nicely 
bound! 

Ah, happily they listen to the sound. 

Hear the laughter of the sickles — 

Merry chimes! 


THE SICKLES 


55 


Not a sob, nor sigh, nor groan, not a muffled 
monotone. 

Comes from gnome or fiend or ghoul 
With a grief for heart or soul. 

For the Spirit of the Times 
Rolls a paean from the sickles; 

He dances and he sings, he chirrups and he rings. 
And his merry bosom swells 
With the paean of the sickles. 

And he halloos and he yells. 

Keeping time, time, time. 

In a sort of Runic rhyme 
To the paean of the sickles, 

And lustily proclaims that he who sows and reaps 
Is the noblest work of God, 

And he gambols and he leaps 
O’er stubble, over sod. 

To the flashing and the clashing of the sickles. 
And in a glad acclaim, 

And in language e’er the same, 

He announces loud and clear 
That the harvest time is here; 

Aye, the Spirit of the Times 
Swells with merry animation. 
Throughout all the happy nation 
And he rhymes and he chimes 
With the paean of sickles. 

As in a hundred phases 
He gives voice unto the praises 
Of the farmer’s work and skill. 

Of the husbandman who worketh with a will. 


56 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Oh, the sickles, sickles, sickles. 

How they clang and clash and ring, 
What a melody they fling 
On the bosom of the palpitating air. 

As the reaper old or new, 

As the reaper strong and true. 

Chatters round the harvest field so fair! 

Ah, the rich and radiant harvest — 

The full and glorious harvest 
That the sickles cut with glee! 

Merrily the farmer’s soul is swelling 
While the sickles, keen are telling 
Of the bounty God has given from the bosom of 
high heaven 

To the tiller of the soil 
In the cheery, gay turmoil 
Of the sickle. 

Of the sickle, sickle, sickle, 

In the utter joyful flutter of the sickle. 


PART II 


POEMS 

OF 

SENTIMENT AND 


PHILOSOPHY 


SouIfBlt thuught 

Ettil hEartharn rirram 
H^r? ar^ launchBil 

m life's fair atoam 


A PICTURE FROM MEMORY 


59 


A PICTURE FROM MEMORY 

I sat ’neath the shade of a hanging vine, 

On the bank of a purling stream, 

In a pleasant vale where the warm sunshine 
Gave a smile with every beam; 

And 1 gazed where the landscape, fair and bright, 
Kissed the sky in the purple haze. 

And let my soul out on a musing flight 
Through scenes of other days. 

In charm-led vision it ranged down through 
Wonderful, glorious years. 

Through days that in beauty smiled ’neath the blue 
Of the canopy of the spheres; 

Thru days that were troubled with strife and toil, 
Through hours of danger and storm. 

Through Vanity’s glitter and much turmoil. 

Till a picture gathered in form. 

A thousand incidents passed in review 
Within sight of my raptured eyes, 

Till the various picture in fancy grew 
From the Earth to the splendid skies. 

And swept o’er the' firmament vast and stark. 

In myriad gleams of light. 

That darted and leaped through shadows dark 
Like shooting-stars through the night. 


60 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Memories bitter and memories sweet 
Were portrayed with magic hand, 

From midlife’s strength to the wavering feet 
That bore me in Baby land; 

From the present time’s impressive hour 
Back into mists of the past, 

Where memory faints in the dreamy bower 
That faded away' too fast. 

And I felt the swaying of cradle-time, 

Heard low, sweet Words of song. 

Saw a face like an angel’s, sweet, sublime, 
Near me the whole day long; 

And I seemed to live in a dreamy calm. 

In a realm of radiance, 

And every touch was as soothing balm 
’Neath that fond, ecstatic glance. 

t 

But the charm-filled picture faded away. 
Except the transcendent face, 

Which floats o’er me still like a joyous ray 
Of love from the star of grace; 

And the fondest visions of memory 
Linger around its smile — 

The glories of beautiful memory 
Endure in its smile. 


THE BYE AND BYE 


61 


THE BYE AND BYE 


The pretty vision of a happy land 
Swept past me in my daylight dreams; 

Swept past, delayed, and then returned — 

A land of sunny founts and streams. 

Of vernal hills and dells, displayed 
Beneath a high-arched rainbow’s brilliant band. 

The rippling music of a thousand rills. 

The carrol- notes of many birds. 

The purr of tiny waterfalls. 

And cheery trills of pleasant words 
From voices soft within the walls 
Of crystal mansions, echoed o’er the hills. 

Small lakes with turfed shores and waters clear. 
And rippling wavelets tipped with light, 

. (Where splendid swans in stately pride 
E’er swam, a vision of delight). 

Lay beautiful on every side, ‘ 

Gay-dimpling here and there and far and near. 

And gardens clothed in Eden’s fairest bloom 
Peeped out in genial radiance 
Through vistas glistening, and from dells 
And deep retreats where merry dance 


62 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And son^ resounded oft to swells 
Of music borne on zephyrs of perfume. 

And all was happiness— nought to alloy! 

No shadows for a moment e’en 
Abashed the rare aurora that 
Diffused o’er all its cheerful sheen; 

No thought of gloomy sorrow sat 
For one small moment there to check the joy. 

It was a vision of the bye and bye; 

Bright faces by the score were there 
Of friends beloved in the past, 

And in those bowers they looked so fair 
I knew the vision could not last, — 

Like other dreams ’twould vanish from the eye. 

Indeed it fled, as dreams will ever fly. 

That glad and radiant vision; 

The happy throngs and music soft, 

The vales and flowers elysian, 

And leafy vine-shades hung aloft, 

Are gone, in all but Fancy’s memory! 


j 


CHOIR OF THE DAYBREAK 




CHOIR OF THE DAY'BREAK 

I sat by the window at daybreak 
As the wildbirds carroled the hour, 

And watched the shadows of night time 
Droop ’neath the morning’s power, 

And as the banners of sunrise 
Flung their colors above the trees, 

The burst of light charmed the bird notes 
Into sweeter melodies. 

i 

The thrush, the linnet and robbin, 

The oreole, cat bird aud jay, 

And all the choir of the treetop, 

Spiritedly sang and gay, 

And with notes unknown to mortals. 

With harmonies grandly fair 
As the soul’s unuttered music. 

They piped on the morning air. 

The daybreak’s freshness and grandeur. 

And the songs of the happy birds. 
Commingled in tender beauty 
That cannot be told in words. 

And a gladness settled o’er me 
That lifted me out of the cares 
That yesterday bore upon me 
In the burden of affairs. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And my heart communed with ang^els 
On the sacred memories massed 
In the stalls of recollection 
Scattered all along the past. 

And the future’s brilliant finger 
In a beckoning gesture shined, 

A strange, glad impulse awaking, 

That cannot be defined. 

0 the glory of the morning, 

And the wildbird’s heaven-made song 
0 the good that is created 
To take the place of wrong! 

But the fondest .hours of lifetime, 

And the gladdest moments e’en, 

Do they teach us always, sweetheart, 
The love of the Great Unseen? 


A MOTHER’S HEART 

A mother’s is the warmest heart. 

In life she acts the sweetest part. 

It is most truly said; 

A mother’s is the fondest tear 
That falls upon the coffined bier 
From mourner o'er the dead. 


poetry’s thought— the fandango 


65 


POETRY’S THOUGHT 

A cadence enchanting on the echoes is sweeping 
In voluptuous, life thrilling strains, thro’ the 
vale; 

Its beauty, its wildness, its laughing, its weeping. 
Pulsate in grand tremors fore’er on the gale. 

A various story it tells in its sobbing. 

Of hearts sick and weary, of hearts madly throbbing: 
A beautiful story it tells in its laughing, 

Of souls full of sweetness, of glory and gladness. 
And charms of love-nectar that gay souls are 
quaffing — 

Of sunbeams e’er chasing the shadows of 
sadness! 

’Tis the hallowed music of Poetry’s Thought, 

Its gracious enchantments come ever unsought. 


THE FANDANGO 

There’s a time to laugh and a time to weep. 
There’s a time to wake and a time to sleep. 
And aye a time to dance! 

There’s a time to think of solemn things, 

And a time for thought to fly on the wings 
Of Pleasure’s gay advance. 

Then, heyoh! let us whirl and glide and swing. 
To the thrill of the harp and the fiddle string. 


66 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Now while we have the chance, 

For tomorrow morn may come with a cloud, 
And Grief’s wail be borne on the winds aloud, 
0 now’s the time to dance! 

I 

CRABAPPLE BLOSSOMS 

Dainty blossoms now are hanging 
Like a thousand little fairies 
On the Crabtrees’ thorny branches, 

And the passing wind it carries 
Sprays of perfume from their faces 
On to every passer-by. 

And the fragrant odors coming 

From the tossing boughs so sweetly 
Charm the soul as well as senses 

With a spell that binds completely 
O’er the heart a glow of graces. 

That we’ll not break without a sigh. 


THE OLD TREASURES 

How we cherish the old treasures. 

How we dream of the old pleasures 
Of the golden happy days long gone; 

How we peer into the future — 

The grand mirage of the future! — 

For the treasures and pleasures coming on. 


The Autumn leaves in motley weaves 
Are floating down the stream, 

And their colors gay in the golden day, 
All smiles with glint and gleam. 
Right now out-do the sky’s deep blue. 
Or the water’s brown and green, 
Or the sunlit flash of the ripples’ dash, 
Or the high bank’s ocre scene. 



AUTUMN LEAVES AND FALL WINDS 
Scene Near Sumner, Little Wapsie’s Stream” 


The wind-gusts lift with frequent shift 
The dry leaves on the shore. 

And whirl and swing like birds awing 
The leaves o’erhead — and more! — 

They whip the clouds into snow-white shrouds, 
And whistle through the trees. 

And sigh and moan in a wonder-tone — 

It is Fall on the Wapsie lees. 




O son of mine, ere you were born 
L looked ahead to that glad morn 
When with the rising of the sun 
You’d be a man of twenty-one; 

That day has come and gone, my boy. 

But memory still retains its joy. 

Ah, when your little baby face 
Would greet me with its cherub- grace. 
Your hands outstretched to welcome me 
When I came home for lunch or tea, 

My soul looked far across the span 
When I’d be daddy of a man; 

And when in troubled sleep I fought, 

My dreams with many demons fraught. 

Or were I drowning in my dream 
In some dark tarn or surging stream, 

The danger? ah, no matter what. 

My boy, grown up, was on the spot 
To rescue me from awful fate. 

Or striking hand, or demon’s hate. 

Swift Time sped on and sports and plays 
And work and study filled your days. 

You were the center of our home 
That time, ere you set our to roam. 

Those are the days I think about, 

E’er and anon, amid the rout 
Of business cares, and oft I see— 

Ah, see!— you as you used to be. 

And see you, when your mother yearned 
For the return her love had earned. 

Give her your manly, fond caress, 

Filling her eyes with happiness. 

Yes, those dear days in memdry 
Today I fondly proudly see. 

Yet I would not recross the span — 

I’m proud today you are a man. 

Full muscled, robust, mental ken 
That puts you with the best in men. 


BROWNIE BOY 


69 


BROWNIE BOY 

Brownie Boy, out in the snow! . 
That’s what makes the rascal growl 
Yes, for boyhood’s greatest sports 
Are playing snowball, building forts, 
Charging thru snowbanks with glee. 
Wading, plunging joyously, 

Mittens soaked and feet sopwet — 
Catching cold? 0 no, don’t fret! 
Young blood warm with healthful play 
Wards off sickness any day. 

Early childood is the time, 

In this hardy, rugged clime. 

To ''toughen up” a likely lad. 

Make him manly, like his dad; 

Brother big, or hero great. 

Whoe’er he wants to imitate; 

Nothing does this like hard play 
From morning until close of day; 
Weather bad or weather good. 

Hard play builds up hardihood. 

When the snow comes floating down 
Over woods and fields and town. 

Great flakes floating light and fair. 
Filling all the silent air. 

Fondled by the gentle breeze, 

Lodging on the roofs and trees. 


70 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Droppingr from the dim, gray sky 
Onto every passer by, 

Mantling all the earth with white, 
Making it a pretty sight, 

Then the playful Brownie Boy 
Looks abroad with bounding joy, 

Dons his cap and in a trice 
Is out in This new paradise, 

For the Almighty Father knows 
That all the flowers that He grows 
In torrid land or summer time. 

And all His charms of warmer clime. 

In inspiration are below 

The beauty of His falling snow; 

And when the mighty winds arise 
How the falling snow it flies. 

Filling all the whitened land 
With a tumult wild and grand. 

What, my boy, if it grows cold. 
Should that strike terror to the bold? 
No, no! it is Old Winter sere, 

It is our climate so severe. 

That makes our northern lad and man 
Leaders, ever in the van. 

With zest for life and enterprise 
And all the good that in them lies. 

Brownie Bpy, young friend of mine, 
Let us look without a whine 
Into the blizzard’s biting teeth, 


BROWNIE BOY 


71 


And believe it far beneath 
Our grit and hardihood to scold 
At Old Winter’s nipping cold, 

Or to wish to spend our days 
In the enervating rays 
Of tropic suns, or in a land 
Ever by warm breezes fanned; 

Lands where skating is not known, 
Lands outside the sleighing zone, 
Lands ivhere lads can never know 
The joy of playing in the snow. 

Nor catching onto bobs, and such — 
Those lands are not for us — not much! 

Frosty mornings, when the sheen 
Of rime upon the trees is seen, 
Glistening on roof and wall, 

On ’phone poles and flagstaffs tall, 
Fence and highway, fields and town, 
Clean and white as fleecy down— 

Cold and snappy, though, O my! 

See the frost-flakes as they fly! — 

Then is when the Brownie Boy 
Fullest is of pulsing joy. 

Hi! Here comes a bunph of boys, 
Putting up a jolly noise, 

Ah! here also comes a dray, 

Prancing team, big, fat and bay. 

“All aboard, and come along!” 

Shouts the drayman, good and strong. 


72 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


“Hear the invitation — hey? 

He’s a good one, and his sleigh 
Is big enough to hold the gang. 

My! just hear those sleighbells clang! 
Hullyjee! now aint this fun? 

Horses they just want to run! 

Why! he goes clear down the street! 
Quit a steppin’ on my feet! 

Here’s the depot! Whoa! He stopped 
So suddenly I almost flopped! 

Now jump off-, he says, be quick! 

Thank you, mister, you’re a brick.” 


“Here comes another team and sled; 
All jump on, now don’t be dead! 
Sakes! that old chump he is mean. 
Crankiest I’ve ever seen, 

Whippin’ kids plum off his sleigh. 

And yellin’ cuss-words thataway! 
Guess he never was a lad, 

Or he wouldn’t get so mad.” 


“Here comes Farmer Jones — and say! 
Grab the back end of his sleigh; 
Welcome, if you get a hold! 

Ouch! my fingers they are cold. 

Here’s a Corner! Hang on! Whee! 
Kept a holt though — joy to me! 

Mr. Jones he is 0. K. 

Never drives us from his sleigh.” 


BROWNIE ROY 


“There’s the school bell, let us go 
Like Injins, single file, just so; 

Get there, fellows, every soul — 

Let the school house be our goal.” 


This is just a passing glimpse 
Of these — do you call them imps? 
Rattle-heads who cannot climb 
To honors high, if given time? 

No, sir, no! From out that crowd 
Of frisky youngsters, wild and loud, 
A president may come some day, 

Or scientist, both sage and gray, 
Merchant, prince, or stockman great. 
Engineer or high prelate. 

Orator or editor. 

Captain of man-of-war. 

Statesman, judge, philanthropist, 

Or e’en a greater, better list 
Of goodly men then you and 1 
Who loves the boys, might prophesy. 


74 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


FAIRY GIRL 


Fairy Girl, demure or gay, 

Joy attend thee at thy play, 
Whether it be jump-the-rope. 
Mumble-peg or antelope, 

London Bridge or piillaway. 
Mother Goose or Queen of May, 
Drop the ’kerchief, needle’s eye. 
Keeping house or I spy. 

Blind man’s buff or dressing dolls. 
Or any other folderols 
Of childish pastime, may it be 
All of happiness to thee. 


Who are these on winged feet 
Flitting down the viilage street? — 
Fairy Girls! who’ve planned to go 
To the Picnic Woods, and so 
Hither comes the carry-all — 

Into it they quickly crawl. 

Manners gay and dresses fine. 

Faces that with pleasure shine. 
Driver smiles and waves his hand 
At this glimpse of Fairyland. 

Away go “Baldy” and “Wild Bill,’’ 
Trotting proudly, with the skill, 


\ 

FAIRY GIRL 


75 


Grace of style and show of game 
By which both are known to fame. 
Happy horses, happy maids— 

See them ere the vision fades 
Out of sight far down the road — 
Never was a nicer load. 

Farmer .[ones’ ample rig 
(It is almost twice as big 
As any other) comes along 
With a flourish and a song, 

Horses prancing, gay, bon ton, 
Wagon great, with hayrack on. 
Loaded down with Fairy Girls, 
Dancing eyes and sunny curls! 

Whoa! they stop right on Main street. 
Horses lift impatient feet! 

Farmer Jones says, ‘‘Hurry thar, 
Climb intew my private car!” 
Keen-eyed, wiry, gaun,t and tall, 

He’s an “uncle” to ’em all. 

For though strict in act and creed. 
He’s kindly e’er in word and deed. 
Young at heart, a cherry soul. 

Full of stories quaint and droll. 
Farmer Jones! Ah! bless his name! 
May he ever grow in fame. 

See his flag as it unfurls 
O’er his load of Fairy Girls. 

Laughter fills the air as they 
Pass us by in proud array. 


76 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Well, well! What is all this fuss? 
Waiting for the auto bus? , 

Yes! a happy, romping bunch. 

Loaded down with picnic lunch! 

More Fairy Girls! My sakes! Ah, me! 
Isn’t this a sight to see? 

Ribbons bright and dresses new, 

Made of pink and gray and blue. 

Green and lilac, white and buff 
And all sorts of pretty stuff. 

All aboard! Away they go. 

Screams and laughter, smiles and Oh! 
What a time they’ll have today 
In the woodland blithe and gay! 

Blit the town without them, though. 
Will be dead as Sleepy Row, 

Will be lacking color, grace. 

Without one bright, girlish face; 

Sure! the day will all go wrong 
Without one sweet girlish song; 

What would Oldtown be, I trow. 

What would happen anyhow. 

How could pleasure e’er abound 
Without the girlies flitting ’round? 

Fairy girl, if sweet sixteen. 

Or more or less, thy years serene. 
Whether household tasks are thine. 

Or studies hard or music fine. 

Or fancy work or painter’s art. 

Employ thy time and fill thy heart, 


A Scene of Rugged Beauty Near West Union 
Courtesy of Mr. A. E. Mcllree 



i'i 

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FAIRY GIRL 


77 


Whether social pleasures call 
Or disappointments on thee fall; 
Whether chums, delights and plays 
Fill with happiness thy days, 

Or thy hours are dull with care, 

Or plain and spiceless be thy fare, 
Whether thou art poor or rich, 

Or well to do, no matter which, 

May sweet faith be always thine 
In the love of God divine; 

Whether thou art stout or spare, 

Be thou e’er a jewel rare; * 

Whether short or tall or slight. 

May thy heart be e’er as white 
And thy soul as sweetly fair 
As they nightly uttered prayer. 

It may be, 0 Fairy Girl, 

That in life’s great, busy whirl, 

In the days that are to be 
(And may many come to thee) 

Men and women yet unborn 
May count it blessed to adorn 
Poesy, historic page. 

Sermon, lecture, essay sage, 
Conversation, letters, thought, 

With the deeds that thou hast wrought; 
Or, if common be thy lot, 

May it be a blessed spot 

For all around thee where thou art, 

Through the love that rules thy heart. 


78 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


A DREAMLAND EXPERIENCE 


After my day’s work was ended, 

All the broken moments mended, 

I sat down before my blazing 
Office fire, and in it gazing. 

Lost myself in idle musing. 

Pleasant thoughts of children using. 
Giving to good necromancy 
Full control of all my fancy. 

As the darkness deepened ’round me. 
Shadow-bogies could have found me. 
Sitting, dozing in my arm chair. 
Dreaming it was pleasant, warm there. 
Dreaming that the summer grasses 
Waved to greet the lads and lasses. 

As they raced in joyous frolic 
Through a woodlot gay, bucolic. 

Ah, the beaming of their faces. 

And their lithe and supple graces. 

As they ran and jumped and gambol’d; 

As they danced and romped and rambled. 
Laughing, singing, crowing, shouting, 
Showed that they enjoyed their outing! 
How the beauties of the wildwood 
Charm the happy hearts of childhood. 


A DREAMLAND EXPERIENCE 


79 


There at noon with many capers 
They spread out some old newspapers 
On the grass, then laid their luncheon, 
And at once began their munchin’ — 
Happy e’er is childhood’s dinner. 

All tasts good to life’s beginner, 

And dyspepsia does not ’fright him. 
Victuals do naught but delight him. 

Meat and jam, preserves and pickles, 
Charm the children, and it tickles 
All the youngsters of all classes 
To munch away at '‘bread an’ ’lasses”; 
And at picnics — oh, the glory 
Ne’er was told in song or story 
Of the good taste of the cooking 
Done by mammas all good looking. 

But the sunshine shrank and faded, 
And in little faces (shaded 
By the dream clouds), looks showed, 
tearful. 

They were of coming shqwers fearful. 
From the denseness of a dream cloud 
Came a clap that didn’t seem loud. 

Just a muffled thunder-rumble. 

But it made the children humble. 

Then the rain came pouring, gushing. 
Then the children all came rushing, 

But to hail and snow the storm turned, 


80 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And the summer glad and warm spurned 
The cold only just one minute, 

For the snow soon wrapped within it. 

All the little trouble faces, 

Froze them stiff there in their places 

And the biting storm it filled me 
With a coldness that soon chilled me 
And 1 felt a dreadful stinging 
As of nettles to me clinging. 

And 1 felt a weak’ning numbness. 

And an overpowering dumbness, 

So I fell and could not utter 
One poor word, not e’en a mutter. 

And I heard the awful moaning 
Of the children dying, groaning. 

While the pallor and the starkness 
Of the snow sank into darkness; 

Then a yell, like shout of Hindoo, • 

Just outside my office window, 

Brought me back from Dreamland’s 
features. 

Back to Earth and earthly creatures. 

And 1 found 1 had been dreaming. 
While the erstwhile cheerful gleaming 
Of my fire had sunk to ashes, 

And old Jack Frost’s chilly lashes 
They had stung my toes and fingers 
With a keeness that still lingers 


RECOLLECTIONS 


81 


In rheumatic pangs and twinges, 

And they “creak upon their hinges.” 

But from this I will recover, 

'When the summer angels hover 
Over poor rheumatic limpers. 
Quieting their groans and whimpers! 
And the children, they are jolly. 
Looking for the sweets and holly, 
Christmas joy and good Old Santa, 
Soon to come to manse and shanty. 


RECOLLECTIONS 

Down the listless, peaceful shore. 
Of the dreaming thoughts of yore. 
Through the olden. 

Aye, and golden. 

Recollections of the past. 

To-night my soul is roving — 
Roving ’neath the mellow skies 
Of those pleasant memories— 
Beguiled in transport, moving 
Thro’ the vaulted, vague and vast 
Region of Youth’s early bower. 
Basking in its sun and shower. 
Bless the memory of those days 
Bless their warm recurring rays! 


H2 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


THE BELL COW “CBEAM” 


Last night I dreamed of my boyhood — 
A homely kind of a. dream! 

I was down in the old south pasture 
Milking the bell-cow “Cream,” 
While the twilight stole down softly, 
And my thoughts they lived again 
In the romance fields of youth tide — 
God b^ess the dream! Amen! 

Ah, the hopes that lit the future! 

They came, a splendid stream. 

Like the rich milk from the udders 
Of good old faithful “Cream”; — 
Such visions of wealth and greatness! 

And her whom I loved best 
I fancied among the fairies 
With face the loveliest. 

And I pictured stately mansions, 

And grandeur, all my own. 

And my thoughts fled thru air -castles 
As they many times have flown; 

And I dreamt and built till the jingle 
Of “Cream’s” old sweet-toned bell 
Told that I had finished milking, 

But when, it did not tell. 


THE BELL COW “CREAM” 


83 


I stroked her soft flank gently 
As if to apologize, 

And sat for a moment longer 
Looking into the skies; 

And she turned and licked my forehead 
Just as she used to do, 

In her honest dumb affection. 

And uttered a gentle moo. 


Close by were the br indie heifer. 
Brown calf and yearling steer. 
And over there in the corner 
The Jersey bull, Ahmeer, 

While “Topsy”, “Rose” and “Mary”, 
Were huddled near the bars; 

The dew was falling over all. 

The moon swam with the stars. 


I arose and looked around me. 
And felt the cooling breeze. 

And watched the shadows gather 
Weirdly among the trees. 

And let the spirits of fancy 
Play on my throbbing heart 
From a fantasy of wonder 
The most enchanting part. 

And then I watched for a moment 
The quiet little herd. 


84 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And the muffled tone of Old Cream’s bell 
Was all the sound I heard; 

Barefooted I, clothed carelessly, 

A boy of moods and dreams, — 

But the dream it passed and I awoke 
To the morning’s sunlit beams. 


And as I heard through the window 
The bells from the fields afar. 

Softly and sweetly tinkling. 

Like notes from a guitar. 

Again I thought of the pasture 
Where I used to sit and dream. 
Milking “Topsy,” “Rose” and “Mary,” 
And the good old bell-cow “Cream.” 


Today I review the failures 
That have fallen to my lot. 

And bring to mind the triumphs. 

Ah, none have been forgot! 

But through them all, the pasture 
And the tinkle of Old Cream’s bell 
Come like a dear old story. 

Too sweet for tongue to tell. 





Cosy Corner of the Cass Farm Pasture, near Sumner 

''By Little Wapsie's Stream/' 












1 

i 



1 


.TROUBLED SLEEP 


87 


TROUBLED SLEEP 

The Fates weep 
As they keep 

Vigils o’er our troubled sleep; 

Yes, they weep, 

And they creep 

Softly round us while we sleep; 

Moving slightly, 

Treading lightly. 

While insanely we dream 
In the phanlom- palled night — 
Wfldly, restlessly dream 
In the fiend-haunted night! — 

And their whispers, 

Soft as vespers 
That tremble on the air 
Of eve with sweet declare. 

Are oft broken — 

Aye, are broken! — 

By the wild moans 
Of the sleeping. 

And by the groans 
And the weeping 
Caused by troubles sweeping 
Without number 
Through the brain, 
While in slumber 
We complain 
In agonized despair! 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Dark spirits gloat 
(As they float 

Before the visions of the mind) 

On our 

Trembling fear; 

And they rear 
To the imagination’s blind 
Devoir 

With fierce menaces that appall! 

Oh, how we shudder in their thrall 
As grim Nightmare hovers thus 
Over us! How we cry 
At the dread that covers us — 

How we in anguish try 
To throw off the horror — the chill — 
The excessive fright — the wild thrill — 
The mutations of fear and hate 
That render the soul desperate! 


Demons laugh 
As they quaff 

Evil from our troubled sleep; 

Aye, they laugh, 

And they chaff 

At our frenzy while we sleep; 
Fiercely glancing, 

Madly dancing. 

While we crazily dream 

In the darkness and gloom — 


TROUBLED SLEEP 


In wildered orgasm dream 
Through night time’s dreary gloom! 
And their gestures, 

" Wild as vestures 
Of darkened storm-clouds torn 
In ragged parts forlorn 
By the raging, 

Unassuaging 
Anger of the 
Furious wind — 

Hurling of the 
Violent wind! — 

Appall us till resigned 
In quasi-death 
We recline 
Without a breath 
Of design 

Until roused by the morn 


But angels sing 
As they wing 

On hallowed flight through silent night 
And gloom; 

Yes they sing. 

And they bring 
Repose and quiet and delight. 

Perfume 

Of flowers and sweet balm of rest 
To soothe the agitated breast — 


90 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And they move to and fro 
In the zephyrs overhead, 

And they breathe soft and low 
All around our pillowed bed, 

Till by submission to their will 

Our throbbing hearts grow calm and still 

And we are lulled to peaceful sleep — 

To blissful slumber long and deepl 




FRIENDSHIP’S ROSES 

Garlands* of bewitching flowers 
Given us in blissful hours 

Are friendship’s roses rare; 
Chaplets of all pleasing hues. 

Sweet blossoms bright and fair. 
Perfumed with the honeyed dews 
Of everlasting joy! 

Fragrant they, in beauty dight, 
Blooming e’er through day and night, 
Bringing to us heart’s delight, 

Free from all alloy. 


FRANCES E. WILLARD. 


FRANCES E. WILLARD 

1894 

Sing, 0 Muse! of Frances Willard, 

She the queen of temp’rance workers, 
She beloved of our people. 

She whose great, found heart the angels 
Lead in paths of grandest duty; 

Sing, 0 Muse! of this good woman 
Round whose deeds the gentle halo 
Of a noble life is shining! 

She has lived, still lives, sublimely. 

In a way that pleases heaven. 

Much there is in life to live for 
Other than insipid pleasures. 

If we only get the richness. 

If we only see the beauty. 

If we only reach the grandeur 
Of the good for us created; 

If we turn into the bright way 
And avoid the gloomy darkness, 

Fighting back the chasing shadows; 

If we work for high achievements 
And in good deeds are not idle. 

Idlers never reach such grandeur 
As is seen in sinking manhood 
Lifted into noble uses 
By one’s own God-crowned endeavors; 
Idlers never see the beauty' 


92 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Of a soul of sia unburdened 
By one’s own deeds of true kindness; ' 
Idlers never know the richness 
Poured down by exultant heaven 
Upon him or her who rescues 
From a wanton’s hellward strugrgle 
Any fallen g-irl or women. 

Ah, the grandeur, beauty, richness. 

Of gre^t works of reformation, 

In both politics and morals, 

In both statesmanship and home life, 

In society and business 

Are enjoyed by those who labor 

For the welfare of the masses. 

Some are selfish, many idle. 

Some are reckless, many callous, 

Else such wrecks and desolation 
As bestrew life’s many highways 
Would not happen, could not happen. 
In a world so fair as ours. 

0 the wickedness of Satan ! 

0 his wreched liquor hell-holes. 
Where the drink-lured man is poisoned 
By the alcoholic reptile 
Until morals, pride and reason 
Fall within the demon’s meshes. 

And an appetite e’er gnawing 
Mocks the drinker with its horrors, 
Robbing him of health and manhood. 
Until sodden, leering, sloven. 

He appears among his fellows 


FRANCES E, WILLARD 


93 


Only a poor, broken drunkard. 

0 the sorrow of his mother, 

Of his wife or hapless children; 

O the keeness of their sorrow, 

And their shame and degradation. 

As the son, husband or father. 

Is each day led farther downward 
By his appetite for liquor. 

O the crimes, the brawls and starving, 
O the brutish scenes enacted 
In the haunts of liquor drinkers; 

O the apathy of people 

Who could stop the drunken orgies. 

Who could stop the actions cruel. 

Who could stop the degradation 
And build up the fallen manhood, 

By their influence and ballot. 

By enacting prohibition. 

Standing ready to enforce it. 

So the liquor selling robbers 
And the makers of the poison 
Could no longer ply their cursed 
Devil-pleasing avocation! 

0 the infamy and horror 
Of the harlot’s career downward! 

O that deepest degradation, 

O that utter reach of woman 
Into foulest sin’s low revels; 

Blessed be the hand that stayeth 
With the strength of pure compassion 
But an instant the mad current 


94 IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

Of the levity immoral ' 

That sweeps ever to destruction! 

Hail unto the high ambition 
Of every soul endowed with earnest 
Passion for a great outcrushing 
Of impurity in woman, 

Of impurity in manhood! 

Hail to every soul enraptured 
With the motive of upbuilding 
In society of all grades 
Purity of deed and action, 

Purity of thought and living, 

Influence and inspiration! 

Such a soul has Frances Willard, 
Such have been her life’s impulses. 

And hearts counted now by thousands 
Cherish for her thoughts of kindness. 
Thoughts of loving pride and prayer. 

Words of cheer for Frances Willard, 
Who has labored to the utmost. 

Who has eloquently spoken. 

Who has deftly, tersely spoken. 

Who has wisely, strongly spoken. 

Both in public and in private, 

In America beloved 

And across the billowed ocean, 

’Gainst the alcoholic monster, 

’Gainst the great destroying demon. 
The accursed traffic in it. 

The accursed using of it. 

Anywhere beneath the heavens; 


I 


LOVE 

And her arguments recorded 
In books, leaflets and newspapers, 

For the cause that she espouses, 

With their blessed influences 
Reach the millions by their firesides. 

Hail unto our Frances Willard, 

May she live long and grow stronger, 
And the grace of God be with her 
And the W. C. T. U. 

Hail to all the noble women 
Who have labored and who labor 
For the welfare of the nations, 

The uplifting of the fallen. 

The destruction of temptation! 


LOVE 

A saintly soul is ever giving 

Through, the sunlight and the mist. 
In the Valley of the Living, 

All on which our hearts insist — 

All the joy and happiness. 

All the outlets from distress, 

All that makes our sorrows less, 

All that heart can wish — the core 
Of her never ending store! 

She is Love, forevermore. 


95 


96 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


THE GALILEAX: A STUDY OF 
THE CHRIST 

He was a perfect man! The turn and mould 
Of his lithe form were true to artist’s dream 
Of beautiful proportions, and his height 
Was full six feet, and he was strong of limb, 

And easy in his every movement, aye. 

And though he rested sparely, yet he did 
Not show fatigue nor mental weariness. 

The pearl-like clearness of his skin showed that 
No taint of blood lived in his veins to mock 
His health. His body from disease was just 
As free as was his soul divine from sin. 

Nor Galilee, nor other land, e’er held 
Another man so physically fair, 

So perfect as the gentle Nazarine. 

No feature of his face lacked elegance. 

The passing stranger looked and was entranced. 

Old men and children, though they knew him not, 
His blessing prayed, he looked so good, so kind; 

His eyes were a deep blue, e’en such as seem 
A soul unfathomed to contain. Ah, yes! 

And rainbow tints and softened sunbeams lived 
Within his glance. The yellow curls that hung 
In girlish grace back from his manly brow 


THE GALILEAN 


97 


Were not effeminate; they suited well 
His kingly nobleness, and marked his mild, 

Though firm and ardent character. His step 
Was confident, his manner proudly sure. 

Yet gracious, courteous, benign withal. 

In pleasant contrast with the studied strut 
And sternly august presence of a prince 
Of Earth. His features showed perfection of 
Intelligent expression, shone straight-out 
With open innocence and purity. 

From fairhaired boyhood till mature strength 
Of thirty years produced his fullest power 
He bore an individuality 

That turned toward him the gaze of all who passed. 
The wisdom of the self important world 
Was crude, misleading, when compared with his 
Philosophy and logic, and with his 
Abundant wisdom there was naught of hate. 

Nor arrogance, nor of self-consciousness; 

Not his the wisdom of the w/ordly-wise. 

Got in adroit encounters with the fierce 
Ambitions of his fellow men. His was 
The inner wisdom, and the insight keen 
Of a complete, acute intelligence. 

He unassuming was and plainly clad, 

Yet so distinguished of appearance as 
To be in any group the figure most 
Important. Aye! Poetical of speech 
And eloquent, his very utterance 
A sti earn of music was, sublimely sweet 
And touching, beautiful and tender, with 


98 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


A pathos mild, yet thrilling, that aroused 
The godlike feeling in the breast of man. 

The people, wheresoe’er he rested, would 
Assemble, now in little groups, anon 
En masse, to hear his God-born arguments. 
Partake, mayhap, of his miraculous 
Provisions for their creature needs, and feel 
The mighty thrill of his magnetic power. 

And marveling the while that fellow man 
Could have such knowledge, such inscrutable. 
Such comforting yet awe-inspiring force. 

The proud and haughty he rebuked with ease. 
Addressed with confidence the high of state 
As one who spoke to children, and he lived 
Aside from the gay throng to comfort those 
Whose hearts were heavy— to relieve distress — 
Physician to the body maimed, also 
Unto the soul sin-festered; e’en restored 
Again to life the stainless dead, at times 
When circumstances deeply touched his heart. 

His was a human sympathy in that 
He sorrowed at man’s woes and grievous sins, 

A sympathy divine in that he sought 

To make men’s burdens less and clear their minds 

Of evil; and to him the mob’s fierce hiss 

Was but a breath, the angered multitude 

Misguided children all. The sullen frown 

Of prejudice could lay no cloud upon 

His brow, although it grieved his soul 

Unto compassion’s fullest depths to see 

The villainy of those he came to save — 


THE GALILEAN 


99 


Unreasonable hate of those he came 
To bless with gifts of grace and purity, 

And the most wondrous gift, the richest gift. 

The gift of everlasting life. The Son 
Of Man, incarnate Son of God, he lived 
A pure life, and labored constantly 
And splendidly to lead the heart of man 
Perforce into more holy and more potent ways, 
With arguments both human and divine, 

Until with awful desperation, and 

With spite and hate inspired by Satan’s wiles, 

The fiend-empassioned Jews destroyed their King- 

Destroyed him in his utter beauty, and 

His glorious manhood, the great sacrifice 

Completing that the Father had of old 

Provided for the cancellation of 

The sins of man — the final sacrifice 

Upon the altar of the burdened world. 

That tardy sympathies, estrangement and 
Indifference impenetrably cold. 

Might be warm-fanned into a flame that would 

A remedy, a cure be, for their 

Ice-willed, fierce-hearted, selfish, thoughtless ills. 

In blessed state perpetual and grand, 

The second person of the Trinity, 

With Father, Son and Holy Ghost enthroned 
Within the heavens high and in the hearts 
Of saints and angels, o’er the souls of men 
He broods with love divine, unspeakable. 

Beyond compare, a constant diplomat. 

An envoy and an advocate to plead 


100 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

Earth’s cause and represent his brother man 
Before the throne of God and in the bright court 
Perpetual and mighty of the King 
Of Empires, Jehovah, Monarch of the Spheres. 

0 were his love — exceeding love — for man — 
Transgressing, fickle, selfish, thoughtless man — 
But given fair return within the bounds 
Of our weak human limitations, this 
Would be a better, happier world-^ah, yes! — 
Than dreamer ever pictured in his flights 
Of grandest fancy, when his raptured thoughts 
Were far awing in speculation’s realm. 


GLEAMS OF LIGHT 

As the wavering gleams of the moonlight dart 
O’er the beautiful sheen of the plain’s expanse. 
Searching out in the shadows each small, wee plant, 
Giving hue to its flower, and fragrance too. 

Giving richness and freshness and life and bloom, 
With the dew and the nightwind to help, withal, 

So that sunr ise may shine on a lovely world, 

Thus the smiles that unforced play upon the face 
Of a dear friend doth beam on the soul, and bring 
To a holier warmth and regard the heart 
That has strayed in the cold night of hate, afar 
Needing friendship that wins to nourish the bloom 
That will smile in the beautiful glow of love 
In the morn’s happy dawn when the sun comes up. 


PART III 
INDIAN LEGENDS 


OF IOWA 


® Tradition! |lagg of old 
Still hold stories ort wotold 



THE CATARACT 


A beauty scene in a wild demesne is a cataract I know, 

That falls from the edge and down the ledge of a cliff where mosses grow, 
A sheet of spray on a sunny day with smiles it plunges down. 

Out of the shade, a bright cascade, near Eldorado town. 

View near Turkey River in Vicinity of Eldorado 

Courtesy Walter H. Beall 
Publisher Argo Gazette, West Union 







CHI-MO^^G-HA, 

THE BANISHED SACHEM 


A EEGEXD OF THE IOWA RTV^ER 


PART I 

The autumn leaves have hung in glory on 
The forest trees as many hundred times 
As there are thumbs and fingers on both bands 
Since fir^ a human footfall sounded in 
The Valley of the Fairy Flowered Stream, 

This region had in pristine beauty lain 
Since first the world awoke, unfrequented 
By. humankind, for it had blandly slept 
Beneath a charm of legends. It was told. 
Around the campfire and by aged folk. 

That the Ghosts of Winds had laid a spell 
Upon the land, sacred against the tread 
Of man, because of its miraculous. 

Its witching loveliness, and had reserved 
It for His Majesty, the great Sun God, 

As private bunting grounds, a pastime park, 

In which in hours of respite from his reign 
To revel in the pleasures* of the chase. 


104 IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

) 

No redman dared to set bis feet upon 
The venerated soil; ’twas even deemed 
A sacrilege to speak of it else wise 
Than in hushed and reverential phrase. 

This old and sacred superstition kept 
The lovely stream, its rapids and its falls, 

Its tributaries and its countless hills 
And dells, its forests and broad openings, 

Free from the fell brutality, the scourge 
Of human carnage, such as marked that dark 
And savage time, and only through the great 
Ambition of a wise and mighty chief 
Did the discovery come that this belief 
Had no foundation but a story old, 

A myth, a legend of the ancient past. 

Chi-mong-ha was the sagamore, or chief. 

Of the Kon-oc-was, the tribe of force and power 
That introduced as food the yellow maise 
To the Algonquins and the Iroquois. 

In both religion and intelligence ' 

This mighty tribe a close relation bore 
To people of the far pueblo towns. . 

Its reigningTine came, ’tis said, 

From the Nahua race, the great Aztecs 
Of the far southwest. In laws and customs all. 
The Kon-oc-was were far superior 
To wilding hordes that roamed in Tartar life 
About them, and to whom they taught their weird 
Mythology and superstitions fierce, 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 105 

And promise of the Happy Hunting Grounds, 

The sprites of help and hindrance, and such like — 
The fiends that bring ere tragedy and pain — 

The Ghosts of Destiny — the great Sun God, 

Whose bodv was the mighty orb of day. 

From which he sent his presence, the warm light, 

To comfort men, his children, and who 
When he at evening retired to rest, 

Sent forth his queen, the moon — the princely stars, 
His warriors — to watch the Earth, his best 
And favorite creation. Aught or all 
Of worthy principles, enlightenment. 

Or governmental system, marriage ties. 

Affection, loyalty and pride, that could 
Be found among the tribal denizens 
Of wilderness, were credited, in fine. 

To Sun God’s wise and potent influence. 

Chimongha was adventurous. He looked 
Toward the sacred land with longing eyes. 

As sachem of his tribe it was his wont 
In times of discord and of turbulance 
To use such diplomatic arts as would 
Most favorably impress his auditors. 

Full oft had he at council-fires and feasts 
Used parables and fictions in his speech ^ 

To influence his people happily; 

And well he knew, from the effects produced, 

These creatures of his fancy (some at least) 

Would live in history. If these his own 
Impossible, yet logical, deceipts 


106 IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

Were kept in perpetuity as facts, 

Aye, told and retold, with the passing years, 

Why not believe traditionary lore 
Were largely fiction? Legends, e'en the best. 
Resemble the improbable so much 
In every case that he was led to doubt 
That any were substantial in detail; 

And biased by desire to explore 
The beauties of the region under ban. 

His infidelity became so marked 
That he began to disregard e’en this 
Foundational tradition of his tribe — 

To look ahead to times when he would walk 
The Valley of the Fairy Flowered Stream, 

And occupy it with intelligent, 

Picked followers, and live his life within 
Its precincts glorious, despite what spell 
Or ghost or sprite had laid upon’t of old.' 

And many in authority are thus 
Brought face to face with error blind — not that 
They deeper thinkers are than others of 
Their people, but because, perforce. 

They must think more, and forc’d thought penetrates 
The mists. Discoveries bring many new 
Ambitions, and Ambition is too fierce 
To droop beneath dark Superstition’s frown. 

Too true it is that many memories 
Of sacred import grand are sacrificed 
Upon the altar of Ambition wild, 

But were it not for fierce Ambition’s great. 
Insatiable hunger and unrest. 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


108 


Progressive thought and action would recede 
Into regardless imbecility. 

It better were Ambition to direct 
In paths more excellent than ’twere to rail 
At its great potency. 

Chimongha dwelt 

On this his favorite theory for moons 
Enough to mark a season, then disclosed 
The cherished enterprise to other chiefs; 

In eloquent and thrilling periods, 

Portrayed the glories of the valley wild, 
Dissecting with a line of argument, 
Convincing, clear, the legend that had kept 
It shrouded in a Veil of mystery. 

And argued it a stupid sin to thus 
Permit so great and fair a portion of 
The Sun God’s best creation to remain 
In primitive disuse. What need, he asked. 
Had the Omnipotent of hunting grounds? 

In his opinion the Creator sought 
His pleasure differently. The Sun God 
Would not without important cause destroy 
That which he had created, otherwise 
He would not be so kind and merciful 
Unto transgressing man. The charnal spear, 
The cruel arrow, bludgeon or trap. 

Were tools too mean for playthings for a god, 
E’en if, perchance, ’t were possible for gods 
To stoop to cruel or insipid sport. 

The Manitou devoured not his own 


108 ' 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Creations, but subsisted on the life 
That filled the vast and boundless universe 
With power to swing the light of heaven above 
A thousand worlds. What need had such an One, 
Such Being Grand, of game or fleshy food, 

Or sustenance of any sort that comes 
Through agony of living beast destroyed 
Amidst the vernal beauties of 
A paradise it graced with living charm? 

The Earth was made for man, and creatures of 
The chase for his diversion and his need. 

But not to be destroyed in heedless sport, 

Or wanton show of cruel mastery. 

Traditions, resting upon word of mouth. 

And shifting with interpretation’s chance. 
Conflicting understandings and the faults 
Of memory, should not be trusted far 
Nor be relied upon as history. 

Traditions that divine that any spot 
Of Earth is hallowed with any charm 
That would antagonize the happiness 
Of man were meet for searching inquiry. 

Thus argued he, and when his barborous. 

His aboriginal and limited 
Horizon we survey, we must admit 
He argued wisely. 


The assembled chiefs 

Sat motionless with wonder, mute, abashed. 
Had demons of the darkest night bewitched 
His understandimg or dethroned his mind? 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 109 

Had ghosts ot madness dimmed his eyes? Had sprites 
With subtle charms misled his mighty heart, 

That treasons ’gainst the legends of his tribe 
Should thus possess his soul? 

Chimongha asked 
For volunteers to follow him into 
The region wonderful, to penetrate 
The hidden mysteries that beckoned so 
Invitingly to daring souls, but none 
Responded. Sagamores and mighty chiefs. 

And splendid warriors departed from 
The council fire, and gloomily around 
Each one there gathered soon an eager group 
Of listeners. Chimongha’s whilom friends 
And compeers now were his most bitter foes. 
Advising all to do h^m violence. 

The Sachem was remembered lovingly 
By all his people, for heroic deeds 
In war and generosity in peace. 

And though his sacrilegious speech had thrown 
A pall of horror o’er each heart, and filled 
The village with a sullen, awful fear. 

Not e’en the most resentful of his tribe 
Would raise a hand to do him injury, 

Though each might say to each it should be done. 

Again the chiefs and old men gathered round 
The council fire, and tongues most eloquent 
Portrayed in fierce invective and complaint 
The lunacy and treason of the great 


110 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Chimongha. None defended. Sagamore, 

Nor sachem wise, nor warrior, nor man 
Of mighty medicine, arose to speak 
In his behalf. Chimongha stood 
And looked with scorn upon the multitude. 

A superstition-blinded throng, they looked 
Upon him as a maniac, and when 
The council final resolution made 
To banish him forever from the tribe. 

The voiceless quiet of the caves could not 
Have been less eloquent in his behalf 
Than were the people who had profited 
When e’er they walked with faith intelligent 
The trail his guiding hand had pointed out. 

With look of utter pity on their dull 
Simplicity, but grip upon his heart ' 

Of that affection which e’en yet endures 
The while it is forgotten by the folk 
Toward whom it yearns, Chimongha strode away. 
Out, out, into the dark and silent night, 

Aiid bent his way toward the distant vale 
The beauty and the mystery of which 
Had lured him from the superstitions old 
And terrible that held his tribesmen in 
Their fearsome thrall, but opened wide, to him, 
The skies of brighter days, and introduced 
New fields, new glories, opportunities. 

Wherein his soul could climb and grow, explore 
Unfettered by restraint of ignorance 
The wonders that the Manitou had made. 


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A Picturesque Scene in the Catfish Valley near Dubuque. 
Courtesy of Wartburg College. 



CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


111 


PART II 

Chimongha, the banished sachem, walked 
Alone. The purple and the changing gold 
Of autumn hung in mantling beauty on 
The forest trees along the fairy stream. 

The hillsides shone in mellow splendor with 
The ripening grass. The falling leaves, bedight 
In all the beautiful and varied hues 
Of nature, lay in heaps in the ravines, 

Or strewn upon the sward, or carried to 
And fro by restess, shifting winds. Proud was 
Chimongha’s soul, as ever and anon 
His vision swept the princely goodliness 
Of this his new domain — a. virgin land — 
Bedecked in all its autumn loveliness! 

The rugged bluffs, o’erhung with climbing vines 
And crowned with shrubbery, the rounded hills. 
Enrobed with underbrush and giant trees, 

The undulating plain, the valleys broad, 

The sheltered dells and sharp declivities, 

’Mid which a clear and sparkling river wound 
Along ’tween banks with tossing tassels lined. 

Of the goldenrod and sumac, lent a sense 
Of charming, lonely beauty to the scene — 

A sense of quiet grandeur and repose. 

Aye, such as only may be found amid 
A fertile territory yet unchanged 
By man’s relentless, ceaseless industry. 

The banished sachem felt within his soul — 

His inmost being — the sublimity 


112 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


He breathed and saw, but from bis o’ercharged heart 
The yearnings of a lonely man gushed forth 
In psalm of praise, yet of petition, to 
The goddess, kind, of the affections, and 
Thus eloquently brave Chimongha prayed: 

\ 

“0 Mother! food of man’s breath. Holy Air! 
Lend thy attention to the sachem’s prayer! 

Thou that temperest the chilling wind until 
It fills us with a warm and pleasant thrill; 

0 thou that lullest passions of the heart 
Aud soot best every pain and aching smart; 

0 thou that feedeth, aye, the sickening soul. 

With medicine ef strength to make it whole, 

0 warm to life of kindness, pray I thee. 

Some creature of my race to live with me! 

Thrice blessed art thou in the myriad arms 
Of countless worshippers- of thy dear charms; 

By millions art thou. Holy Air, caressed. 

By thousand lovers hourly art blessed. 

Think of thy happy state, thy life of love 
Amid the royal cherubim above. 

Then look upon thy lone child, even I, 

Look from thy throne of eagles’ wings on high. 

And in this spot of beauty here behold 
A tribeless sachem, strong, not yet grown old. 

The king of all this rich and radiant scene. 

But where, 0 Holy Air! where is the queen? 

My heart is filled with longings warm and strong 
To hear within my wigwam’s folds the song 
And sweetly uttered counsels of a wifo — 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


113 


To add a better half unto my life. 

A sachem should a leader be, but where 
Will I find followers, 0 Holy Air! 

Fill thy son’s eager ears with soundful tramp 
Of braves, a thousand, coming into camp. 

The passion of thy breast brings to my soul 
A throng of longings fond that inward roll 
Upon my heart with sweet affection’s voice; 

Send to my arms the spirit of thy choice.” 

Chimongha paused. The sunlight fell upon 
His massive brow and showed a face, firm, strong, 
Denoting character. His restless eye 
Was nervous, too, and searching, yet was mild 
And kindly, while there lurked a smile beneath 
The stoic sterness that became a chief. 

His step was firm, his body vigorous; 

He wore the garments of authority 

The soft-tanned deerskin blouse and moccasins. 

And leggins of the choicest mink, with stripes 
Of weasel down the sides, and for a plume, 

Wing feathers of the white owl woven in 
A crest of fur, main of the buffalo, 

But other decoration had he none. 

The sachem was not vain. His dress was rich 
And neat, befitting to a mighty chief 
But void of polished shells and jewelery, 

For love of these he held in sheer contempt 
As weakness unbecoming to a man. 

That he was truly great his trial proved. 

Such hearts are not subdued; they mount on wings 


14 


IOWA LEGENDS AND. LYRICS 


Of inspiration in the face of toil 

And difficulty, and more rapidly 

Advance than lesser, tamer souls, e’en though 

They favored be by influences rare 

And helpful to^remarkable degree. 

Chimongha! Ah! the blood of ancient chiefs 
Coursed through his veins. To him the solitude 
Was not a mockery. His busy brain 
Was peopling now the vale luxuriant 
With tribesmen of his own brave flesh and blood. 
In fond imagination and foresight 
A line of Aztec leaders — chiefs and kings — 

From the nobility of which he sprang 
In regal might. 

He sought to stand the head, 
King, priest, physician of a mighty tribe 
In which no imbecile, no clown, no weak, 

U nwor thy member should appear — no throng 
Of unreliables to disconcert. 

But every man should be a prince, a brave. 

With heart unconquerable, lofty, proud. 

And every squaw a princess in her lodge. 

With thoughts like these astir within his brain 
And trusting to the Ghosts of Dqstiny, 

He wandered to and fro and up and down. 
Exploring every nook and glade and grove. 

Till frosts of autumn late bade him to seek 
A sheltered place and build a wigwam, warm 
And snug, before the Ghosts of Winter brought 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


115 


With angry, biting winds, the ice and snow, 

And reaped the leaves and put to sleep the grass 
And flowers. 

The hunting season was at hand. 
Elk strode abroad in stately, fearless pride. 

The buffalo, and bear knd deer and fowl. 

Were plentiful, and wandered near and far 
At will, without a thought of other foe 
Than wolf or panther; and the beaver, mink 
And otter swam the streams without a fear. 

The strutting turkey and the modest quail, , 

The drumming pheasant and the prarie hen. 

The timid rabbit and the leaping squirrel, 

A huntsman’s harvest made through all the year. 
The geese and ducks, and other downy birds 
Of passage, came in spring and fall and lent 
Their fat flocks to the hunter’s wary thrift. 

Down by the laughing river, ’neath a bluff 
Of scraggy limestone, great, mossgrown and high 
Like ancient battlement, its rough face to 
The sun, the solitary sachem built 
A deerskin lodge, and when the north wind bleak 
Across the prairies swept, and sobbed and howled 
Adown the vales and gulleys, shrieking oft 
Like wraiths of madness through the forests bare, 
Chimongha halted from his wandering. 

By thrift well fed and comfortably housed. 

He lent his thoughts to speculation much, 

And wondered what the future had in store — 


116 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


While dressing: skins and furs he had secured 
When hunting on the cloudy days, when game 
Roamed freely after storms — roamed wide and long 
At forage, after fasting within lair 
Or shelter while the angry death-ghosts chased 
The sharp winds thru the forests white with frost. 

He manufactured weapons. From the ash 
He made the longbow, stiff and strong, to throw 
A heavy arrow; and of hickory 
The short bow, light and handy, for the small 
Game. Arrows of the supple ironwood, tipped 
With flint stones; hatchets, lances, headed with 
The choicest flintstones from the western hills. 

To grind the kernals of the golden maise 
He fashioned millstones of the granite rock. 

The nigger-heads, strange rocks the gods had bro’t 
In ancient times on moving fields of ice. 

For cooking game he fashioned jars and bowls 
Of blue clay hardpan, flexible and smooth, 

And baked them by the fire day and night 
Until they were unbreakable and strong. 

Thus by the fire in his migwam warm 
Chimongha was employed, while sleet and snow 
Upon the forest fell and blizzards swept 
In triumph down the leafless vale, nor did 
He languish in his solitary tent. 

But braved, with huntsman’s hardihood and zest. 
The perils of the woodland chase, alone. 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANJSHED SACHEM 


PART III 

When fairies of the Spring had scattered far 
And lavishly the flowers o’er the plains, 

And clothed the wildwood with a princely garb of 
green, 

And decked with plumes of the wild apple all 
The hillsides in the sunshine, once again 
Chimongha wandered through the vistas of 
This paradise elysian that grew 
The brighter as the Angels of the Winds 
Of Summer nourished into richer life 
The flora of this soul-inspiring land 
By all good angels favored, yea, and blessed. 

One calm evening as the southwind 
Whispered softly in the treetops, 

Fondly moving every leaflet, 

Chimongha strolled down by the river. 
Watched the beauty of the sunset. 

Viewed the blazing splendor round it. 
Wondered if within such glory 
Lived the cherubim of heaven. 

As he gazed a dulcet murmur 
Softly stole into his senses. 

Sweetly charmed him as he listened. 
Breathless, pulseless, so intently 
That his heart near ceased its beating. 

Louder came the sound so charming, 

As with keen anticipation 
Further strolled he up the river. 


118 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Stronger, sweeter, grew the music. 

Till a'song in plain words uttered 
Filled the chief with consternation, 

Which again was turned to rapture. 

Angels could not sing more sweetly, 

Nor the ringing of the echoes 
Chime a harmony more pleasing. 

One voice of the richest trebble 
Carr oiled when the others rested: 

“The waves, soft-dimpling, lap thy shore, 

0 River of Flowers, and o’er 
Thy bosom brown 

Long shadows reach from rock and tree. 

And Nature rests awhile to see 
ThC’Sun go down. 

Ne’er did I breath of airs more sweet, 

Ne’dr have I known a scene to greet 
Me with such bright 
And beautiful displays of all 
The earthly raptures thsrt enthrall, 

Bewitch, delight! 

“Fair flowers and fruits and game* grow here 
In bounty great — how they would cheer 
My father’s band! 

Ah me! the ghost with heart of dove 
Must cast his fondest look of love 
^pon this land. 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


119 


“This fairy vale, this happy place, 

Must know Chimongha’s noble face — 

This is the stream! 

Yon bluff, kissed by the setting sun, 

High beetling, looks much like the one 
Seen in the dream.” 

Chimongha heard and wondered; in his ear 
The melody, the beauty of the voice, 

A something also not defined in these. 

Were prone to linger, and his heart was filled 
With new sensations, but the mention of 
His name caused him to seek with look perplexed 
The singer of the song: 

“0 Holy Air! 

Has human sight e’er met on earth so fair, 

So exquisite, so radiant a girl? — 

Eyes like the twinkling sLars, teeth like the pearl! 
Is there among the sprites that round thee swarm 
One angel with such naive, sylphic form? 

Is it a vision that delights my eyes. 

Or seraph from the rare and radiant skies, 

Left by the glorious receding day 

To be swept up by the first morning ray?” 

This was the rapturous soliloquy, 

Half prayer, that bursted from the sachem’s soul, 
As his approaching footsteps brought him near 
Unto the singer. Slender maid was she, 

Of scarcely eighteen summers, yet with air 
And bearing of an individual 


120 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Who has true confidence, the fruit of well 

Defined experience in exploits that 

Successful are, she looked a queen, although 

As truly wild as wilderness can make 

Its native children, she divinely sat 

With careless ease upon a sapling bent 

So that in tossing jauntily thereon 

Her bare and shapely feet, in dimpled mirth. 

Would plunge beyond her ankles in the stream 

O’er which the sapling leaned. Her raven locks 

Hung negligently far below her waist. 

And moved with pleasing coquetry upon 
The buoyant breeze as she swayed to and fro. 

A dozen paces to the right a squad 
Of warriors were going into camp. 

The while young women of the company 
Were cutting up a roebuck for the night’s 
Repast, and crooning low sweet melodies 
The while. The camping band were not the dark. 
The copper -colored savages that roamed 
In cruel warbands o’er the plains, or made^ 

The woodland regions hideous with yells 
And massacre. They were the paler race. 

The nobler people from the far southwest, 

The race of princes great, Chimongha’s race. 

For mental calibre and manly strength. 

With physical and moral courage, ment 
That people with endowments such as these 
Could lead the wilding hordes, and shape affairs 
For those who lacked executive ideas 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


121 


Or who were slack in profitable force. 

E’en later in our history, the chiefs 
Of greatest influence and mental strength 
Have been of fairer color than the tribes 
O’er which they ruled, and it has argued been 
That they inherited superior 
Gifts through good fortune individual 
From higher ancestry; and that the blood 
Of prehistoric greatness still crops out 
At intervals, and lending vigor and 
Surpassing mental strength and spirit to 
The lucky scion e’er, 

Chimongha knew 

The group before him was of the fair race 
Which leaders gave of power to the hordes 
Of wandering children of the northern plains. 
With dignity he strode toward the camp. 

The singing group he 1 indly welcomed, and 

In conversation realizing soon 

The fact that they were also fugitives. 

Reassured the braves with sign of peace. 

A superstition of the great south-tribe 
Had banished proud Chimongha. This small band, 
Which represented still a larger, had 
With relatives been persecuted by 
The savages that roamed the rugged north, 

The land to which their fathers had repaired 
A thousand moons before, called thither for 
Their captainship, their genius in the arts 
Of government and tribal polity. 


122 ^ IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

The rule of these intelligent, highborn 
And splendid sagamores, barred out the rude 
And hideous tortures that were practiced on 
The prisoners of war and other foes. 

Rules such as these, put into force upon 
A people scarcely lifted from the beasts. 

Were a continuous and fretful thing 
To wildmen, pantherlike, bloodthirsty, prone 
To revel in excesses bestial. 

The second generation ’rose in mad. 

Determined, fierce rebellion ’gainst these strong. 
Humane restraints. The princes found themselves 
Amid incessant treachery and hate. 

But still were not permitted to withdraw,. 

But were compelled to practice the austere 
Important functions of the chieftain’s role. 

The savages grew insolent, more rude. 

As time passed on, till order was unknown. 

All leadership was unavailing then 
To quell the anarchistic spirit fierce. 

A sachem’s life, his kindred and his all. 

Were in a place of insecurity 
And constant danger. Finally to add 
To manifold insults, a vulgar dog 
Who coveted the sachemship, stood forth 
Amid the powwow at the council fire 
Demanding that in marriage should be bound 
The elder sachem’s daughter, beautiful 
Monona, unto him fore’er, forthwith. 

Refusal caused a bitterness that grew 
Until it culminated in a burst 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


123 


Of fury, and a vicious, fierce attack 

Upon the chiefs. Strong princes and fair squaws 

Defended like the heroes that they were, 

Defeating promptly and decidedly 
The dusky swarm of savages, who fell* 

Back, in the humiliation of defeat. 

Yet sulking, angry, as they nursed revenge. 

The princes and their families then withdrew 
With thier effects full quickly toward the south 
Embarrassed by their recent warriors. 

Who dogged their trail for two long moons until 
At last those tragic hunting grounds were cleared 
And from a peaceful tribe, the Chippewas, 

They learned of great Chi mongha’s banishment 
From the nation of the Konocwahs. Of him 
They knew through good report, and had surmised 
That he was of the pure Aztec blood 
And kindred of their own. Surmising, too. 

That his proud soul would lead him straight unto 
The region of his fancy, they had changed 
Their course and headed for the sacred stream. 

But when they reached the fascinating vale. 

No evidence of human resident 
Could be descried. 


Their little company 
Of fifty souls felt graciously secure 
Within this charming valley by the clear 
And sparkling waters of the river, which 


124 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


They named the Ay-ah-wah (Place Beautiful). 
They made a temporary camp, straightway, 
Erecting lodges of the basswood bark, 

Held into place by the long, slender vines 
Of the Virginia creeper, and began 
Providing for their future maintenance 
And welfare thoroughly. 

One night the girl, 

Monona, had a dream. Chimongha’s lodge 
And all the exquisite surroundings of 
His camp appeared to her in this strange dream. 
The river wider was and deeper, seen 
In this fair dream, than where their lodges stood. 
So inference was drawn that he, beyond 
A doubt, had settled farther down the stream. 
Monona's dreams were never questioned. She 
Was princess medicine, with gifts divine. 

And the Great Spirit gave her sight to see 
Correctly in all visions of august 
Importance. Hence, the princess with a guard, 
Her maiden train and twelve young warriors. 
Was sent forthwith down stream upon a raft 
l,n quest of great Chimongha’s lodge, and reached 
The fair vicinity of his abode 
At sunset on the seventh day, and he 
At once bestowed his praise upon them and 
His lavish hospitality. Next day 
He sent a scout in haste up stream to ask 
The main part of the band to hurry on 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


125 


And join him in his valley beautiful. 

The meeting was accomplished in due time; 
Then came a season of festivity 
And joy and ceremonia) exchange. 

The crowning feature of the program wild 
And beautiful and eloquent was the 
Election of Chimongha as the chief 
Of chiefs, outranking all the sagamores. 

The tribal name of Ayahwah — the name 
Unto the valley given — was the choice 
Of all the adults at the council fire. 

The Ayahwahs soon mingled with a band 
Of friendly Sioux, found in the neighborhood. 
Adopting them; a strange alliance, but 
It proved to be a wise one when the hour 
Of peril came. The Sioux were warriors 
With iron hearts, and hunters of great fame. 
Their personality and dialect 
Were pressed upon the Ayahwahs as time 
Progressed, until the softly spoken name. 

The musical and rythmic “Ayahwah,” 

Became the sharply spoken “Iowa,” 

The tribal name enduring until now, 

And now perpetuated in the name 
Of a great commonwealth, a region vast. 
Containing all the sylvan hunting grounds 
Of “The Place Beauitful, ” — the valley of 
The Iowa, — and more, of vales and broad 
Savannahs rich and fair, and wooded hills 
And templed cliffs, and lakes of witching charm. 


126 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


PART IV 

Chimongha looked with loving eyes upon 
Monona. Her intelligence and wild, 
Delightful beauty, spoke unto his heart 
With eloquence entrancing, and the maid 
Admired the Sachem great, so wonderful 
He seemed in his great wisdom and superb 
Ambitions, and one morning as they met 
By accident outside the camping ground, 
Chimongha said: 


“Monona, thou wouldst grace 
The Sachem’s lodge. Chimongha loveth thee. 

Be thou his wife.” Monona answered low, 
“Chimongha, he hath spoken; it is well.” 

Affectionate caresses sealed their troth. 

But scarcely had Monona felt the strong 
Pulsations of her lover’s heart uoon 
Her breast, as close she nestled in his arms. 

When the weird warwhoop of an old Sioux brave 
One of their recently adopted friends. 

Its wild and startling warning sent through ut 
The valley, and a scout came running to 
Chimongha with the news that out beyond 
The river bluffs Apaches fiercely swarmed. 

In numbers to bewilder, and arrayed 
For battle, were preparing to attack 
The Ayahwahs in force. When duty calls, 

And patriots assemble to defend 


0 the mighty force of the water-course 
As it flows with awful strength 
Over the flume with roar and boom, 
Sweeping the dam’s full length! — 
Strong as the bent of sentiment 
Of patriot hearts and strong, 

When the souls of men o’er hill and glen 
Fight ignorance and wrong. 



VIEW OF THE CLERMONT DAM 

The Electric Plant which furnishes Power and Light to many 
Towns in the “Switzerland of Iowa.’’ 

Courtesy Mr. Walter H. Beall, 

Publisher Argo-Gazette, West Union 



CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


127 


Their land against invasion and their homes 
Against despoiling hands, e’en love must rest 
Its issue. Within less than half an hour 
Chimongha had his forces marshaled out 
Upon a small plateau, good vantage ground. 
Surrounded by a sloping meadow broad, 

But furnishing a quick retreat into 

The forest, should disaster meet their arms. 

The mound was crowned with egg-shaped cobble- 
stones, 

Formidable and disconcerting when 
As weapons they were used in close combat. 

The Ayahwahs were skilled in hand to band 
Encounter, and the warclub and the spear 
Were handled by them dexterously. With 
The bow and arrow expert and well armed 
They waited calmly, grandly, and as still 
As the mysterious silence that prevails 
Before a storm. 


But seel Demoniac 

Apaches, fell scourge of the western plains 
Swarm o’er the bluff like demons of the night, 
And throw their bodies into hideous 
Contortions, lashing comrades near with whips. 
Inflicting on each other and themselves 
Indignities innumerable, fierce. 

To stimulate their fury as they run. 

Hallooing, yelling like ten thousand wolveSj^ 
And bellowing like bulls, and shrieking loua 
As only savage or demented men 


128 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Can shriek, on, on, they come, closer they draw 
Unto the band of patriot Ayahwahs. 

To yield is death, and death, too,* to retreat I 
To fight is surely death against such odds! 
Chimongha! hero of a dozen fields. 

What good thy valor now? A few strong strokes — 
Thy noble arm may fall, thy brave heart beat 
No more, thy voice may be forever stilled. 
Chimongha is a brave — a warrior — 

He knows not death. Ten thousand ghosts of death 
Could bring no tremor to his nerves, no dread 
Into his heart. In voice stentorian 
And clear he shouts: 

“Oho, ye Ayahwahs! 

Fight, for the God of War looks on! Stand firm! 
And let the ghosts of battle fill you with 
The rigors meet for this emergency! 

O ghosts of battle come! Chimongha prays! 

Come to the Ayahwahs ye wraiths of war! 

Witness ye heavens now, that where we stand 
A struggle will take place fit for the eyes 
Of gods and angels! To your clubs, ye braves! 

Ye women ply the bows; ye children, too. 

Hurl rocks and darts and arrows, that it may 
Be said that ev’n babes fought for Chimongha, 

Their faces glowing with the pride of war! 

Oho, ye desert fiends! Come on! Ye swarms 
Of animals, ye raging beasts, ye men 
With fangs, ye eaters of your fellow men. 

Come on! Oho, ye Ayahwahs, shoot when 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


129 


Your aim is sure, strike when you can and waste 
No strength, no arrows! Fight, for the spirits of 
Your sires look on!” 

It was a noble sight, 

That band of warriors, calm, dignified. 
Surrounded by their children and their squaws 
Awaiting what the gods of battle hold 
In store for hearts that fight in self-defense 
And purpose glorious — crowning the mound 
That soon might be their bier. 

Without excitement they began to shoot 
At intervals into the surging host 
Of fierce Apaches circling round them on 
The plains below. At every shot there fell 
An enemy amid the howls and shrieks 
Demoniac of vengeance from his mates. 

On came the howling throng, on up the steep. 
Resistless as the waves of ocean when 
The tide comes in. A rain of arrows, all 
With poisoned tips, defended their advance. 

And 0 a dozen vvounds flowed fresh among 
The Ayahwahs before the fight was hand 
To hand. The AyahWahs were not dismayed, 

But stood their ground. The mad Apaches shot 
At random, so their arrows spent theii- force 
Amid the prairie grass. Chimongha’s braves 
Took aim whene’er they drew the bow, and laid 
A foe with every arrow parted with. « 

But now the fight is hand to hand! The spear, 
The club and hatchet cut and maim and kill! 


180 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Like unto tigers of the desert wastes 
The wild men spring upon the Ayahwahs 
And fight an hour’s space. Ho! they fall back! 

But 0 sad sight! A ghastly heap of slain, 

Like butchery or awful pestilence, 

Where ghosts of wrath have heaped a sacrifice 
Of human beings to the God of War, 

Bestrews the mound. Where are the children brave 
Of “The Place Beautiful’’? Chimongha, where 
Is he— and where his great ambitions — where? 

But why do the Apaches beat retreat 
With such great haste? Aha! the Ayahwahs 
Do not compose that wall of slain, but safe 
Behind it are with steady aim and swift 
Engagement shooting deadly arrows at 
Defeated, routed and bewildered foes. 

Met with resistance unaccountable. 

Inflicting many blows, without effect, 

While those received were deadly in their force. 

The cowed Apaches feared that they had met 
The Gods of Horror and of Ancient Time 
In conflict, and distraught with fear. 

Were fleeing in disorder from the spot; 

But even fear could not eradicate 

The diabolical desire from 

Their hearts to capture prisoners of war 

For torture, and no savages so well 

The arts of torment knew, for they could keep 

Their victims in excruciating pain 

And constant agony for hours and days — 

E’en weeks and months— without inflicting death. 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


131 


And when such tortured person was released, 

As sometimes brave, distinguished warriors were, 

The anguish and the agony that he 

Had undergone, left him a weakling wreck, 

A raving madman or an imbecile 
It were a mercy to dispatch. 0 brave, 

0 gallant Ayahwahs, 0 let not one 
Of thy good, valiant band be tortured with 
Such wanton cruelties. Count thy dead braves. 

Ten lie in death. Now, count thy wounded ones; 
They all bear wounds enough, but twenty are 
So weak they cannot stand. Chimongha, where 
Is he? Safe, wounded, dead? Not heard his voice 
Of firm authority, not seen his tall, 

Commanding form. His white plume is not seen — 
Not waving with a haughty toss above 
The tallest of his warriors now. Not seen 
Among the slain or prostrate ones, he must 
Have fallen in the deadly fray. Oho! 

What’s that the stark Apaches hurriedly 
Are dragging through the grass? Monona cries 
That ’tis the chief, and with a heart-born shriek 
Of anguish and thrice shouting loud the name 
“Chimongha!” grasps a spear, though bleeding from 
A cruel wound, she calls unto the braves 
To follow. Out, on, o’er the pile of slain. 

And down the sloping plain where prairie grass 
And flowers wild are trodden to the sod 
By feet of savage hordes, the beautiful 
And brave girl leads a charge impetuous 
And fierce unto the rescue. With the strength 


132 


IOWA LEGEMDS AND LYRICS 


Of utter desperation on they dash, 

Scarce fifty noble souls, with shouts of cheer 
Conveying to their captured chief their brave 
Intent his rescue to effect. Aha! 

They on the horde of wild Apaches spring 
As though to fight a thousand were but play 
Or pastime worthy of a holiday. 

Behold amid the carnage terrible, 

Amid the pandemonium that reigns. 

The rescue is achieved with quick success. 

The thongs are severed that Chimongha bind; 
Monona kneels above him as the fight. 

Again renewed, roars on with savage cry. 

She wipes his wounds caressingly with the 
Soft, grateful folds of her white deerskin robe. 

He had been lassoed with a lariat. 

And dragged for many rods across the plain. 
Bleeding and bruised, so weak he scarce could stand. 
E’en though his wounds were dressed, they helped 
him back 

Unto the mound, soon as the braves had gained 
Their second, final victory on the field. 

The wretched horde, defeated, disappeared. 

Up, o’er the beetling bluff down which they had 
So recently and furiously climbed. 

And ne’er again were the Apaches seen 
So far toward the rising sun, but dwelt " 

Amid the deserts of the mountain land. 

Retreating as the Cheyennes and the Sioux 
Usurped the ranges of the buffalo. 


CHIMONGHA, THE BANISHED SACHEM 


133 


Cbimongha’s band removed their wounded to 
Their camp, and with sad ceremonies weird 
Gave martial honor to the dead who fell 
In brave defence of home and family 
And hunting ground and friend, removing foe 
And comrade, all the fallen braves, unto 
A place retired and honored sepulture. 

The Ayahwahs increased and flourished as 
The years went by. Chimongha’s fame arose 
To heights of fabulous report, and he 
Was known to distant tribes as coming from 
The clouds with wisdom from the great Sun God, 
And many were the proverbs that he spoke. 

The teachings and the wisdom that he spread 
Abroad, and many sagamores from strange 
And distant peoples visited his tent. 

And in his wigwam sat and smoked the pipe 
Of peace beside the fire, while listening to 
The music of his voice, enchanted by 
The power of his eloquence, and viewed 
The beauty of his queen. Monona sat 
Within his lodge, the comeliest of squaws. 

And wise, — and ever was “big medicine” 

In matters of the heart, and lovelorn maids 

Full oft resorted to her tepee in 

Their quest of knowledge of the arts of love. 

A mother of romance was she instead 
Of being mother of a race of chiefs, 

Although her son became a sagamore 
Of great renown upon the battlefield. 


134 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


These ancient folk are seen by us through dim, 
Uncertain legend, but the Valley of 
The Fairy Flowered stream is just as fair 
Today as when Chimongha hunted deer 
Along its banks in that far distant day, 

And “The Place Beautiful’’ holds us enthralled 
As surely as it did the beautiful 
Monona, when she sang that summer eve 
The while she teetered on the swaying bough 
And bathed her comely feet in girlish play 
And girlish grace, there, in the waters of 
The comforting, refreshing Iowa. 


KIND WORDS 

An angel-serenade 
To hearts that are broken 
Is the gentle love-raid 
Of words kindly spoken. 



THE SWIMMING HOLE 


Here on a shore that I adore 
I watch wee Wapsie’s tide 
Move like a dream the while I seem 
Close to the deified; 

Here the finny tribe in peace imbibe 
The deep pool’s nourishment, 
And turtles swim along the brim 
In tranquil, dumb content. 



Scene on Little Wapsie, Below Old Brick Yard,” Sumner 

The rock-strewn beach in easy reach 
Of shade and leafy screen 
Makes it the place for swimmer’s grace 
And naiad frolics e’en; 

To plunge or wade ’neath sun or shade. 

The naked youngster here 
Can cheer his soul in the “swimmin’ hole,” 
With nought at all to fear. 



THE PAWNEE LOVERS 


1H5 


THE PAWNEE LOVERS 

A liEGElST) OF EOST ISEAND EAKE 


Wave-dimpled lake! I dream, 

As I gaze on thy blue, 

Laughing waters — ah, dream! — 
That I hear the halloo 
Of the wild, painted brave, 

Who once lived on thy shore, 
Echo up from his grave 
To resound evermore 
Through his old hunting ground— 
His revered hunting ground! 

And my thoughts wander back 
Through the stories of old, 

Down the dim, fading track 
Of tradition, — unrolled 
Are the scrolls of the past 
To the eyes of my dream, 

But my heart stands aghast 
At the red bloody stream 
That flows down through the years — 
Through those far away years! 


186' IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

To roam on the prairie 
Was the lot of the race 
That peopled this area, 

And there was ample space 
For all tribes to enjoy 
For long stretches around 
The wild huntsman’s employ 
On a rich hunting ground, 

But they wrangled and quarreled — 
Fought madly and quarreled! 


Thus ’tis ever with man, 
Whether civilized or 
Not, he takes if he can. 

In the fortunes of war. 

The estates of his neighbor, 

And he takes greater pride 
In war than in labor; 

Either struts on the side 
Of conquest, or bows down — 

To the victor bows down! 

But my dream again turns 
Through the silence of time, 
While thy bright bosom spurns, 
With a beauty sublime. 

The caress of the breeze — 

Again turns, and I gaze 
In mild, pleasure- toned ease 
On the scenes of old days; 


THE PAWNEE LOVERS 


Scenes wild and romantic — 
Superbly romantic! 

And a green island floats 
As in days long ago, 

Midst a score of small boats, 

On thy wave to and fro. 

And the trees nod in beauty 
Over deerskin tepees — 

In tall stately beauty! — 

In the soft summer breeze. 

On this wild wizzard island— 
This old, legended island! 

O’er thy .bosom this isle 
Floated ever, 0 lake. 

Like the heart of a smile. 

And the course it would take 
Was the course of the gale. 

As a raft wafts along 
When the wind fills its sail 
With an impetus strong. 

But it ne’er touched thy beach— 
E’er stopped short of thy beach. 

Charming lake, the tepees 
That I see in my dream 
On the isle ’neath the trees. 
While serene sunbeams stream 
O’er thy light choppy waves, 

Are the tents of the wild 


1H8 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 




Pottawatatamie braves 
Who in past years beguiled 
Their days in this region — 

This fair, blooming region! 

And I see the bright eyes 
Of the laughing Winole, 

The delight of her wise, 

Aged father’s proud soul. 

As she sits at the door 
Of his painted tepee, 

Singing songs o’er and o’er 
Of her love, a Pawnee 
From the plains farther south — 
The f air land of the south! 

But a tremulous sound 

Now and then chokes her voice. 
And she glances around — 

Sadly around! Her choice 
Is against the command 
Of the chief of the tribe. 

Who himself seeks her hand 
In wedlock, and a bribe 
Has offered her lover — 

To buy off her lover! 

Would the brave Waugama 
Take the gift of the chief? 

“May I ne’er see the day — 

I would die mad with grief,” 


THE PAWNEE LOVERS 


139 


Is the thought of the maiden; 

Then she corals again 
A song that was laden 
With the joy of the wren, 

And she smiles at her fears — 
Gaily laughs at her fears 

Now she breathes a low prayer, . 

And full on my vision 
A young man appears; — there 
Is manly decision 
And a firm, cogent grace. 

And a comely uprightness 
Plainly writ on his face, 

And a steady brightness 
Calmly shines in his eyes — 
Firmly shines in his eyes! 

Itis brave Waugama, 

And he comes on a horse 
From his lodge far away, — 

Like a pang of remorse! 

Like a wild rush of air! 

For the cold message brief 
And the offer unfair 
From his rival, the chief. 

Has filled him with madness— 
With jealousy’s madness! 

He is met on the shore 
By the smiling Winole — 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

On the. lake’s sandy shore 
By the bright eyed Winole! — 
And she takes him across 
To her home on the isle 
In a boat. Ah, the toss 
Of her head! Ah the smile 
On her face as she rows — 

For her brave lover rows! 


Waugama is a man 
Of brave deeds and renown, 
And my eyes do not scan 
In the Indian town 
Even one to excel 
Him in sinew and form; 

But I see a mad hell 
Seething there that will storm 
Forth upon him in rage — 

Soon in jealousy’s rage! 


There has gathered two groups, 
One around the mad chief, 

And the other; with hoops 
Of approval and brief. 

Hardy comments, around 
Waugama and Winole 
And the echoes resound 
With the defiant roll 
Of the rattling war-drum — 

The long-buried war-drum! 


THE PAWNEE LOVERS 


141 


Waugama’s group is small; 

He commands his brave friends 
To secure the canoes — all 
Nimbly rush to the ends 
Of the isle, and the boats 
Are released quickly and 
Shoved out from the floats 
Attached to the island, 

Out, 0 lake, on thy wave — 
Friendly, life-giving wave! 


When Winole’s father old 
Sees his child safe from harm 
In the strong, willing hold 
Of her fond lover’s arm. 

He turns toward the chief. 

And in accents of rage 
Cries: “Would you be a thief 
And rob me in my age 
Of my only Windle — 

Of my cherished Winole? 

“Would you rob him who made 
You the chief of this tribe — 
The Pawnee who has stayed 
Years by you and your tribe? 
By the slow smoke that curls 
From the graves of my dead 
By my boys and my girls 
And my wife lying dead — 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


I hurl a curse upon you — 

This island and you!” 

But I see other boats 
Drawn up high on the beach, 
And the chief wildly gloats 
Upon these; they’re in reach! 
He yells forth a command, 

And by fifty wild men 
They are launched from the land, 
On thy waters, and then 
Comes the hard race for life — 
Frantic, wild race for life! 

As I look, in my dream 
I see dark clouds arise 
From the far west’s extreme 
To the uppermost skies. 

While the reso jant roar 
Of the thunder’s deep bass 
Jars the turf on thy shore, 

And fierce lightnings race 
Up and down the dull sky — 
Brightly flash in the sky! 

A great wind -cloud descends — 

A wild- wailing cyclone — 

As Winole and her friends 
Reach the land — where alone 
They stand on the prairie! 

The fair island is gone! 


THE PAWNEE LOVERS 


14B 


Not a solitary 
Boat is now seen upon 
Thy huge, high-surging waves — 
Splashing, billowy waves! 

Filled with awe is each heart 
In that small, frightened group, 
And the teardrops they start 
And the eyelids they droop, 

As the braves and squaws look 
In vain o’er the expanse 
Of thy waters — ah, look! 

Do they stand in a trance? 

Is their island home lost— 

Dashed to pieces and lost? 

It is done, and the skies 
Give as kindly a smile 
As e’er raptured the eyes 
On the place where the isle 
Was destroyed by the storm! 

Of their foes not a trace 
Can be seen, and warm 
Come the winds o’er the face 
Of the green, level plains — 

O’er the vast grassy plains! 

Thus were lost the strange isle 
Pottawatamies gone! 

And Pawnees the while 
Ruled this land of dawn. 


144 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Till the Sioux and Cheyenne 
Claimed the ground as their own, 
Roaming upland and fen 
From the south to Pipestone 
As their great hunting ground — 

As their best hunting ground! 

But the vision it fades, 

As a dream of the night 
Sinks away in the shades 
Of the past, and the bright 
Day spreads out o’er a scene 
That is good, debonair; 

Still the prairies are green, 

But a race that is fair, 

Wise and cultured, now lives — 

In this happy land lives! 

Ornate homes, mammoth barns. 

And tall silos are seen, 

And drained are the tarns. 

And broken the sheen 
Of the stretches of land 
With orchards and groves. 

And cities are fanned 
By the breezes, and droves 
Of cattle are grazed — 

Where the buffalo grazed! 

The wild grasses that grew 
Like a robe o’er the plains. 


THE PAWNEE LOVERS 


145 


Kissed by sunlight and dew 
Have given way to grains 
By husbandmen planted, 

And the sailboat now skims 
Over thy waves enchanted, 
And the motorboat swims 
Where once swam the canoe — 
The wild redman’s canoe! 


But thy waves say “Winole,” 

And they say “Wagama,” 

As to shoreward they roll, 

Since that far, olden day; 

0 a breath of romance 
Sweetly ladens the air. 

And the lover will glance 
Into dear eyes that care. 

When “he” walks by “her” side— 
On thy shore by her side! 


HUBRAH FOR THE WINDS 

Hurrah for the winds of the western plains, 

The breezes so wild and free, 

With health for our lungs and wealth for our gains 
And filling our heaiTs with glee! 


146 


IOWA LEGEMDS AND LYRICS 


PRAIRIE FLOWER OF THE 
PONCAS 

A liEGEND OF THE LITTEE SIOXJX 


On the prairies of the sunset, 

By a clear and sparkling river, 

By the River of Big Fishes, 

Little Sioux, the white men named it. 
Lived the maiden. Prairie Flower, 

In the lodge of Beak, her father, 

In the old chief Gray Wolf’s village. 

Long before the paleface trespassed 
On the virgin western prairies 

Eyes that twinkled like the starbeams 
Tresses black and silken, flowing 
Like the drooping wings of angels. 
Fingers like the touch of morning 
As it lifts the waking eyelids 
Feet that trod the velvet grasses 
Like the breathing of a spirit. 

Voice as sweet and softly charming 
As the birdnotes of the daybreak; 

Ihus was bless’d the good Beak’s daughter 


PRAIRIE FLOWER OF THE PONCAS 


147 


And her features and her figure 
Were so comely that the Poncas 
Fondly named her Prairie Flower. 
Loved was she by all the people, 

Young and old, both male and female, 
Warriors grave and prattling children; 
And she loved the world she lived in. 
Loved her kindred and her neighbors. 
Loved the broad and pretty prairies, 
Loved the wigwams of her village, 
Loved the sky that hung above her, 
Loved the daylight and the darkness. 
All the wild delights she noted. 

Pets to her all beasts and birds were; 
And the “ha ha” of the river 
As it babbled o’er the ripples, 

And the note of lonely plover, 

Nervous yelping of the gray wolf 
Solitary in the distance. 

And the night-hawk’s plaintive whistle, 
Gutt’ral call of lonesome ground owl 
Answered faintly by the echoes. 

And the trebble of the frog notes, 

And their tenor, bass and alto. 

Coming from the sloughs and river, 
Were to her a pleasant chorus. 

Filling every night with music. 

Let us look now for a moment 
At the country of the Poncas; 

Let us look upon the beauty 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Of the land of Prairie Flower. 

Broad and rolling was the prairie, 

Green it was in happy June time, 

Smiling ’neath the summer sunbeams. 

On the mounds and sloping hillsides, 

On the levels and ihe ridges. 

Roamed antelope and wild horses. 

Roamed the buffalo and roebuck, 

And great elk with spreading antlers. 
Grazing all the joyous summer. 

On the uplands in the morning 
Crowed the strutting prairie rooster, . 
Proudly crowed and musically. 
Underneath the bluejoint grasses 
On mounds built by pocket gophers, 

And the hens and younger chickens 
Looked with pride upon his glory. 

Roamed the large game o’er the prairie. 
Unmolested by the Indians, 

Only when for food they hunted 
For the frigid days of winter. 

As they lived on small game mostly. 

In the hot months of the summer. 

When venison and beef would sour 
If at once they were not eaten; 

And the small game, which was plenty. 
Could be taken just as needed. 

Here and there a slough pond nestled. 
Where the muskrat, coy and simple. 


PRAIRIE FLOWER OF THE PONCAS 


141 ) 


Built his house of reeds and rushes, 
Shapen like a haycock built it, 

With its base down in the water. 

And its rounded top erected 
With a snug nest fixed within it, 

Just a step up from the water. 

Some ponds, larger than the others. 
Had an open space of water 
In the center where the rushes 
Could not grow in the deep water, 
Where the mallard, teal and whistler 
Passed the days in constant swimming, 
Catching frogs, tadpoles and minnows, 
Now and then 'on green growth dining; 
And the snipe and plover waded 
In the shallows of these duck ponds 
Where the moss and water grasses 
Made the footing soft and springy. 

Through a bottom wide and level 
In a winding course the river 
Laughed and prattled over rapids; 

Here and there in pools it rested. 
Where a sharp bend, called a pocket. 
Checked the water’s onward progress. 
Or where beaver had cut willows 
From the river’s willowed margin 
And dammed up the rushing water, 

So their little ones could paddle 
Without danger from the current. 

In the freshet flow of springtime. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


In the time of the high water, 

Came the muskalunge and catfish, 

Came the buffalo and sturgeon. 

And the bass and pike and redhorse, 
From the great Missouri river, 

From the turbulent Big Muddy, 

Seeking in great schools the shallows 
Of the brooklike upper waters. 

Ere the spawning season opened, 

And were captured in great numbers 
As they struggled up the rapids. 

Mink and otter, ducks and wild geese. 
Game of water, birds of passage. 

Nested there in great profusion, 

So that feathers, meat and peltries 
Of the finer sorts were plenty, 

Making all the Poncas happy. 

On the prairie’s round abutment. 
Which walled in the river bottom 
With a line abrupt, distinctive, 

Boldly marking upland edges, 

Groves of poplar, ash and basswood 
Could be seen occasionally. 

Saved by some good freak of nature 
From the yearly prairie fires — 

Camping places goodly sheltered 
PYom the biting winds of winter 
And the fierce sunrays of summer. 

Like a harmony of nature 


PRAIRIE FEOWER OF THE PONCAS 


Was the undulating prairie, 

Reaching off to kiss the mirage 
Of the glimmering horizon, 

And the simple, rugged Poncas, 
Without luxuries or riches. 

Without statesmanship or logic. 
Lived in tribal peace and plenty, 
Thankful to the Ghost of Heaven. 

All were happy but Big Antlers, 
Gray Wolf’s son, pride of the Poncas. 
Antlers loved the Prairie Flower, 

But he awkward was before her. 
Awkward was before all women. 

And he moaned about his passion. 

Had the will but not the courage 
To propose to prairie Flower, 
Brooding o’er his love in silence. 
Could a women with such graces 
That the chiefs of other nations 
Came to look upon her beauty. 

Love an awkward man like Antlers? 
Could a girl like prairie flower. 

With a voice like unto angels, 

And a tender ear for music. 

And a heart that made a playmate 
Of every helpless little creature, 

Love a rough man like big Antlers? 
Ah, but no one knows a women. 

With herself she’s not acquainted; 


152 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Long the dainty Prairie Flower 
Had admired awkward Antlers, 

But she neither spoke nor looked it 
And he daily went despairing, 

Until the Omahas one day 
Appeared near unto the village, 

With a warwhoop and a challenge 
That sent the old war blood to coursing 
Through the veins of every Ponca. 

Rushed the braves unto their weapons, * 
Donned their warpaint and their feathers, 
And by brave Big Antlers headed 
Were about to meet the foeman, 

When Big Antlers, in his war dress. 

Felt a slight form clinging to him, 

Heat’d a sweet-toned voice imploring 
That he rush not into danger — 

’Twas the form of his sweet angel, 

Twas the voice of Prairie Flower. 

Proud and happy was Big Antlers, 

And with words assuring left her 
And led out the Ponca forces; 

With strong heart he charged the foeman 
That had pome to cause disturbance 
And bring sorrow to his village. 

Fled the Omahas before him 
He came at them with such ardor. 

And the victory completed. 

Back came Antlers and his brave men. 

All his awkwardness had left him. 

And he made the maiden happy. 


OCTOBER IN IOWA 


153 


And himself made happy also 
On the prairies of the sunset, 

By the River of Big Fishes, 

By the clear and sparkling river, 
Little Sioux, pale faces call it. 


OCTOBER IN IOWA 

Grand Iowa! thou art ablaze 
With glory fields of golden maize; 

The Artist of tbe Autumn, He 

Has painted bright each shrub and tree 

In colors that delight the eye, — 

And spread o’er all a bright blue sky; 
The meadows and the roadsides too 
In happy green all smile at you; 

The>air is crisp, not sultry now. 

Nor chilly, either. I allow. 

The weather it is never more 
Agreeable to lung and pore 
Than when October’s splendid sun 
Bestows his smile on everyone 
In Iowa, and winds are fair. 

And autumn odors in the air. 


154 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


PUCKA WAT AM A’S REVENGE 


A liEGEND OF THE WAPSIPmiCOX 


A party of twenty stalwart Sacs, 

With never a thought of foe’s attacks, 

Went hunting and trapping within the bounds 
Of their long accustomed hunting grounds. 

In the primal days before the whites 
Usurped the red man’s ancestral rights. 

They left their village amid the cheers 
Of gay groups of their warrior peers, 

And happy children that played about 
In many a wild delightful rout; 

Some carried the smile of wife or child 
Away in their hearts, others the mild, 

Coy glance of a maiden’s fond dark eyes— 

And they rowed away ’neath sunny skies. 

On the upper Wapsipinicon 
Their midsummer hunting was begun; 

Far away from noises of the camp. 

Far away from the sound of horse’s stamp. 
They went to the dark and solemn wood 
Where game was less wary, hunting good, 
Besidfe the river where they could use 
Their handy and strong dug-out canoes. 


PUCKA WATAMA’S RKVENGE 


155 


The plump brown bear was a splendid prize 
For the hunting Sac’s bold enterprise; 

The stately elk and the browsing moose, 

The stalking crane and the fat wild goose, 

Were easy prey for the marksman true 
Who was ambitious to dare and do. 

They hunted and slaughtei-ed, day by day, 

A toothsome, nourishing array 
Of fowl and venison, and all the game 
Known to aboriginal fame. ' 

In the open day they hung their meat 
To dry in the summer sun’s fierce heat. 

And some they cured with coarse rock salt. 
During their famous hunting halt. 

Until with hampers and sacks all full 
They beganiheir way down stream to pull, 

Merry at heart, toward home with vim, 

Passing the long days with chant and hymn. 

At night they camped on grassy bank 

’Neath the waving basswoods green and bank 

And dried in the early morn the damp 

Of dew from their clothing in their camp 

By cheerful fires, and with pleasure looked 

On their ample breakfast as it cooked 

Thus three days passed on their homeward ride. 

And they camped upon the riverside 

On the evening of the third day 

Under a hill that wms just half way 

From their erstwhile campground up the stream, 

And they raised their lodge’s green crossb 3am 

Just as the darkness began to creep 


156 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Up the rugged hillside tail and steep. 

They raised the lodge, for the weather’s face 
Wore a scowling, angry, dark grimace; 

Great, billowy clouds, in weird unrest, 

Chased across the sky in crazed behest. 

And lightnings scattered their zigzag light 
In wicked glee up and down the night; 

The earth beneath seemed to sob and moan. 

With once in a while a louder groan. 

And birds and animals seemed to feel 
A general dread'upon them steal. 

The gray wolf snappingly made reply 
To the prowling panther’s savage cry; 

Mournfully whistled the whip-poor-will, 

The screech-owl’s note arose wild and shrill. 

The night wind sighed with reluctant ease 
Through the dark boughs of the forest trees 
While e’er and anon with sullen zest 
Deep thunders muttered far down the west. 

Soon a tornado in frenzy broke 

Like a creature of madness from Nature’s yoke. 

The contending elements roared and clashed. 

The thunders bellowed, the lightnings flashed, 

A funnel-cloud uprooted trees 
With mighty force and awful ease. 

And threw the wreckage far abroad 
O’er hill and dale and prairie sod. 

And the angry winds with clamor tore 
The lodge to shreds, and, exultant, bore 
Away the treasured provisions gained. 


PUCKA WATAMA’S revenge 


157 


All the camp’s effects, and then complained 
In loud-howling^ fury down the vale, 

Gradually dying in a wail; 

And then a smothering calm came down— 

Like a sluggish, dreamless sleep came down! 

And the frightened braves,, despoiled of strength. 
Prone on the ground cast themselves at length. 

To sleep away their terror and grief. 

For wildmen’s troubles are mostly brief. 

It was the last sleep for all but one, 

For from the rise till the set of sun 
The sharp warcry of the fierce Pawnees 
Would echo among the hills and trees. 

For a warband from the farther plains 
Had sworn to drink from the proud Sac’s veins 
The blood that made them heave and strong 
And ever prompt to avenge a wrong. 

Wild Pawnee outlaws, cruel they. 

Proud to fight in the fiercest way. 

These, sulking in ambush close at hand, 

Like hungry wolves watched the little band, 

Till at a command, low-spoken, brief. 

From Scowling Bear, their ferocious chief. 

Each Pawnee moved forward with steps as light 
As the falling dew of the silent night, 

Slowly, steathily, as crawls the snake. 

With scarce a weed moving in his wake. 

Crept each wild warrior up the glen. 

Each of the Pawnees’. two hundred men; 

And as the stupor of restful sleep 
Held the doomed Sacs within its keep. 


158 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


A warwhoop round about them broke 
That the very echoes of hell awoke 
With the dread of its demoniac sound, 

And even shuddered the pulseless ground. 

Ill all the disoider of surprise 
The terrified Sacs awoke with cries 
Of inexpressible dread and rage, 

And grasped their weapons and began to wage 
War to the death with the surging foes 
That like waves of devils fell and rose 
Bearing them down with the giant weight 
Of superior numbers to their fate; 

Like cats with mice, in this cruel raid. 

With their dazed victims the Pawnees played. 
Permitting them to almost escape. 

Then flaying them until they would gape 
With anguish, and in the wretched throes 
Of madness would hurl upon their foes. 

In the fury of despair, the stones 
From the rough river side, and with groans. 
Shrieks and mutterings, would try to rush 
Through the jeering Pawnees to the brush. 

And in their bewildered, frenzied might. 

Felled many a Pawnee in the fight. 

Until in rage the Pawnee chief 
Ordered the Sacs shot, with the belief 
That in the excitement of the fray 
Some beleaguered Sac would get away. 

Then fell the sharp arrows like the rain 
Upon unprotected heart and brain. 

And the strong Sac hunters, one by one. 


There’s a spot in my travels where I linger and look, 

A place where the grass and the rocks and a grove 
Form the banks of a railroad that runs like a brook 
Through a cut that is spanned by a bridge far above. 

In June clothed in green, in September in gold, 

Whether bloom of the springtime or in sumac’s red glow, 
’Tis a view, when at sunrise or in sunset unrolled. 

That will live in the heart, and will blossom and grow. 



THE ROCK CUT 

View on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railroad, near Fayette 

Courtesy Upper Iowa University 




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puckawatama’s revenge 


Fell ere the setting: of the sun. 

Fiercely they had struggled all the day 
Through the cruel torment of the fray. 

Did any escape? Was there not one? 

Ah, yes! In the Wapsipinicon, 

Good stream, a warrior fell, 

Just as the Pawnees’ clamorous yell 
Sang out the death of the hunting band 
On the Wapsi’s rough and bloody strand. 

He swam to safety amid the rank, 

Tall rushes of the opposite bank. 

And sank to rest on the yielding mire. 

Nursing the while a warrior’s ire. 

There he stayed until the shades of night 
Lent their still gloom to his homeward flight; 
Down the shore he crept with bated breath. 
While the gaunt wolves on the scene of death 
Snarled among the stark dead and tore 
With hungry fangs at the flesh and gore. 

At length by the lapping waterside 
He saw where a small canoe was tied. 

A quick thought leaped to his throbbing brai 
In this canoe, ere the night should wane. 

He could with extra exerted force 
Be far away on his homeward course. 

And as he unloosened and stepped into 
The light- tipping basketlike canoe. 

He heard the warsongs of the Pawnees, 
Camped up the river among the trees. 

Heard! ah, with venomed hatred heard! 

I IS soul was sick and his eyes were blurred 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


From scenes of massacre and blood 
On the bank of good old Wapsi’s flood. 

He made reply with the fierce warwhoop 
Of the outraged Sacs, and with a swoop 
Of his tomahawk above his head, 

Vowed by the ghosts of the mangled dead 
Strewn through his ancestral woods, that he 
And his family and tribe should be 
Revenged for the life blood wantonly spilled 
By the war-fiends — for the brave men killed. 

The ripples danced in the pale moonlight 
On the storied river, and the night, 

Restful and calm as a summer’s dream. 
Slumbered upon the whispering stream. 
Rapidly coursed the canoe along 
As he plied the paddle fast and strong. 

The twinkling eyes of the firmament 
Their countless glittering glances lent 
To cheer the brave hunter on his way 
To the camp of Pucka watama. 

Puckawatama, the warchief grave, 

Was stalwart, hardy, determined, brave, 

A warrior of experience. 

Versed in the arts oi quick defence. 

And in the strategies of attack — 

Woe to the foeman who crossed his track! 

He heard the messenger’s story through; 

His brow grew dark, and his tribemen knew 
That a dreadful vengeance he would shed 


puckawatama’s revenge 101 

On every Pawnee’s cravan head; 

The medicine man forthwith he called, 

And gave command to glean and scald 
A large supply of the strong smart-weed 
And bade his warriors prepare with speed 
To give their enemies rightful scath 
Mid the glories of the fierce warpath. 

Five hundred warriors, tried and true. 

To the warcall of their leader flew; 

Armed with tomahawk, bow and spear. 

Boldly they plunged into the wood-land drear, 

And ’neath the forest’s sheltering arch, 

Though the days were hot, made a forced march, 
And reached the camp of the dark Pawnees 
On the second day, as the cool breeze 
Of the evening began to rise 
O’er the Wapsi’s virgin paradise. 

Quietly creeping ’round the camp 
On the level greensward soft and damp. 

The Sacs closed in on their enemies, 

Pounced into their midst with angry cries 
And soon had every Pawnee bound 
Prone and struggling on the ground 
By command of Puckawatama; 

Now would he in sullen vengeance slay 

The brutes that had killed his brave young men? 

No! such slaughter was beyond his ken! 

He could spare their lives and better sate 
His utter vengeance and tribal hate. 


162 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


The medicine man his smartweed drug 
Had brought along in an earthen jug. 

This drug was sprayed into the Pawnees’ eyes, 
Causing them horrible agonies. 

When maddened with pain they were set free 
To blindly roam in their misery. 

The Sacs to their towns returned again, 

As many as came, five hundred men. 

Never again were the Sacs distressed 
By Pawnee warbands from the west. 


GENEROUS IOWA 

0 shall I tell in a line or two 
“From the heart o’ me to the heart o’ you’’, 

How Iowa teaches her boys and girls 
Bestowing on them the richest pearls 
Of knowledge? and how she teaches, the blind, 
The mute and deaf? how thorough and kind 
Her care of the imbecile and insane. 

With vigilance never allowed to wane? 

How Iowa people — they’re good as gold, 

God bless them— shelter the infirm and old, 

The orphan babe and the helpless poor, 

And the wronged who fall by the evil doer? 
These facts of Iowa’s noble heart 
Should oft be told in the busy mart. 

And oft repeated and often shown 
That Iowa’s good heart may be known. 


THE SAWKEE PRINCESS 


m 


THE SAWKEE PRINCESS 

A LEGEND OF THE NISHNABOTNA 


The gentle Wee-wa-ha-wa stood 
Within the shade of an oaken wood 
Beside a murmuring brook, * 

And long she strained her jet black eyes 
Afar toward the western skies 
With earnest, searching look. 

She was the Sawkees’ pet and pride; 
Ne’er on the sunny, bright hillside 
Had ran a girl so fair, 

In all the nation great and wild; 

She was the old chief’s only child, 
Princess and royal heir. 

But recently beside the grave 
Of Leaping Elk, the warchief brave, 
Sorrowing she had knelt— 

Strong Leaping Elk, her father proud, 
Now slumbering in death’s cold shroud — 
0 darkly sad she felt. 

Out of the west her lover bold. 

The young brave whom her father old 
Had held in best regard. 


1«4 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Would come from war with the Pawnees, 
Would come with fame not won with ease. 
But fighting fierce and bard — 

Come home, to take name of chief. 

And to assuage his people’s grief 
Over their old chief dead; 

Come home to cheer the maiden’s heart — 
The pretty We-wa-ha-wa’s heart — 

And then the maid to wed. 

Beyond the hill’s receeding swell 
Each noonday she looked long and well, 

Far up the wartrail’s way; 

Three middays watching there she stood, 

A golden angel in the wood. 

Impatient of delay. 

From o’er the hill, wild, proud and hale, 

The stark war-braves swept down the trail 
From out the boundless west, 

And at their head the chieftain young, 

The strong and stalwart We-ba-nung, 

The bravest and the best. 

Foremost to meet them ran the maid. 

An instant then the warrior stayed 
From his careering speed, 

And caught her of divinest charms 
And fondly bore her in his arms 
Camp ward upon his steed. 


THE SAWKEE PRINCESS 




The twain to all were much endeared; 

The braves and women loudly cheered: 

0 hail to Wee ba-nung! 

Hail to the Wee- wa-ha-wa bird! 

Hail to every Sawkee’s word! 

0 hail to old and young! 

Then came the joyous wedding feast; 

From north and south, from west and east 
Came every proud Sawkee, 

To eat, to sing, to shout and dance. 

To hurl the tomahawk and lance 
In gallant, sportive glee. 

And neighboring chiefs of all degrees 
Joined in the gay festivities — 

The Pottawatamies, 

Osages and the Omahas, 

With retinues of braves and squaws. 

All friends of the Sawkees. 

Ne’er came a new chief into power 
.^mid the applause of brighter hour. 

Nor charming princess wed 
A nobler or more valliant brave. 

For ne’er did plume of warrior wave 
Upon a worthier head. 

And never had an Indian chief 
E’er rescued from the pall of grief 
A maiden more sublime. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

Nor ruled a stancher, braver race, 

With firmer hand or better grace, 

In any place or time. 

E’er mindful of bis tribe, and proud 
That o’er their fame no evil cloud 
Had e’er a shadow thrown. 

It was his constant wish and will 
To make their standing better still. 
Better than they had known. 

Chief Wee-ba-nung was a hunter strong. 
Could chase the fleet elk all day long, 
And close with the brown bear 
In reckless clutch, and with his knife 
Bring end unto the great brute’s life 
Within its trodden lair. 

He’d meet straightway without excuse 
The fiercest panther or bull moose. 

And make him stand at bay. 

And from his bow could send a dart. 
Unerring through the roebuck’s heart 
A dozen rods away. 

No rider held unbroken horse 
More capably within its course; 

The tipping, light canoe. 

Rode smoothly, stanchly, when his oar 
Compelled it from the grassy shore 
To plow the waters through. 





SUNSET ON THE SHELLROCK 
View Near the Town of Shellrock. Photo by Mueller of Waverly 

The sunset’s glance o’er the stream’s expanse, and shadows on the shore, 

Add beauty e en to a glory scene where the Shellrock eagles soar. 



THE SAWKEE PRINCESS 


107 

In battle he was brave, and wise 
In time of peace. The nation’s size 
Grew under his control 
Till villa^^es of the Sawkees 
By hundreds counted their tepees— 

Proud was the great chief’s soul. 

He loved to see papooses play 
In childish frolic wild and gay, 

And much enjoyed the fun 
And sporting of the larger youth 
In rush-and-tumble, bold, uncouth. 

And contest stoutly done. 

And dignifiedly gave the prize 
To lad who won in enterprise 

Where patience, strength and wit, 

And movement quick and cunning skill 
Gave to the game a helpful thrill, 

And growing muscles knit. 

But while he heartened the athlete, 

To wisdom’s son he gave a seat 
At every council fire, 

And oft he spoke a moral word 
That his young men in deference heard; 

It bettered his empire. 

Chief Wee-ba-nung no wanton war 
Waged on the other nations, nor 
Allowed internal strife 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


1(58 


To waste in number his young men; 
Savannah, forest, hill and glen, 

Were blessed with peaceful life. 

And Wee-wa-ha-wa, noble bride, 

Was reverenced both far and wide 
For gracious acts and true; 

Farfamed the loveliest of squaws, ’ 

A queen in every way she was — 

Strong with her tribe she grew. 

They lived and blessed, the chief and wife, 

A happy, long, domestic life, 

And one by one there came 
Papooses to their tented home 
F'or shelter ’neath its rawhide dome. 

To eat the hunted game. 

The two lived on till ripe old age 
Paid them in full the sure wage 
Of time and their full years 
Closed lii^e some sweet and wildered dream, 
By Nishnabotna’s winding stream— 

The stream their name endears. 


Say not that savages eschew romance. 

Or lack the thrill of Cupid’s witching glance. 


THE COURTSHIP OF VI-NO-WAZ 


169 


COURTSHIP OF Vl-NO-WAZ 

A LEGEND OF THE GREAT IOWA 
HUNTING GROUNDS 


Brave and stalwart young Vi-no-waz, 
Chieftain of the proud I-oh-wahs, 

Stood upon a bluff of limestone— 

High and beetling ledge of limestone 
And looked down into the valley 
Where his braves were soon to rally 
For the great feast of Mondamin, 

He that keepeth off the famine. 

Tall and green the maize was standing, 
And the rich sweet ears expanding 
In the sunshine and the showers 
Showed that the Ghost of Happy Hours 


NOTE — Almost every tribe of American Indians has 
the story of some famous “squaw chief” among its tra- 
ditions, and many and fanciful are the legendary adven- 
tures of these amazons; and it is said that the story of 
“Tus-ca-men-ta” is not only possible, but probable. 

It is believed that Tus-ca-men-ta’s hunting grounds 
were the forests and valleys along the Cedar River, mostly 
above' the mouth of the Shell Rock. The “corn feast” of 
this section was something of a “harvest home” affair. 

“Wap-si-vo-lun.” — (Now the Little Sioux), “River of Big 
Fishes,” so called by the Indians, on account of the fab- 


170 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Blessing^s breathed on every cornfield, 
On Mon^lamin, on the corn yield! 

By thousands in their husk-leaves silky 
Hung the luscious maize-ears milky. 

All along the laughing river, 
Manitou, the Mighty Giver 
Had bestoyed his riches ample, 

And no foe had dared to trample 
In the cornfields of Vi-no-waz, 

• Nor approach the stern I-oh-wahs. 

With these reasons for elation. 

Proud and happy was the nation. 

On the morning of the morrow, 
With his hatchet, bow, and arrow, 
Lance and knife and knotty warclub — 
His I-oh-waz magic warclub. 

Made of iron wood enchanted 
And by warrior Spirits haunted — 
Every chief and brave would revel 
On the da ice-ground wide and level. 


ulous quantities of sturgeon and muskellunge formerly 
found in its waters. 

“Um-chi-mo-taws” — A detached squad of the 0-jib- 
ways. 

“Gitch-i-day-n us.”^(Big Country), southern Iowa, the 
ancient home of the Osage Indians, and always a beautiful 
region. 

“Ma-ko-bal.” — The rich grazing lands between the 
Litle Sioux and Des Moines rivers, the most famous buf- 
falo hunting grounds known to the Indians. 


THE COUKTSHIP OF VFNO-WAZ 


171 ' 


And while boasting of the glory 
Won in battles long and gory 
With their foes, the Um-chi-mo-taws, 

And the brutal, wild Dah-co-tahs, 

They would dance and yell arouad the 
Harvest pole, and loudly pound the 
Tom-tom, each brave fiercely painted— 
Dance until the last had fainted 

Then the maize-ears, sweet, enticing, 
In a quantity sufficing. 

Would by woman be fried, roastM, 
Boiled with game, or nicely toasted 
In burnt meal; then every maiden 
Of the tribe, with baskets laden. 

Would pass round the well-cookt, steaming 
Corn and meat, with fragrance teeming. 

Then the warriors and women, 
Looking proud and grand and trim in 
Savage dress and plumes that fluttered 
Would partake; and loudly uttered 
Exclamations of rejoicing 
Would set e’en the echoes voicing 
Songs and praises— and Mondamin 
Would be victor over famine. 

This would all come on the morrow, 
But out upon the plains, far, oh 
Far, the piercing vision 
Of Vi-no- waz made incision 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

Toward the westward, tow’rd the prairies, 
Where the wild red rose, Mo-zai-riz, 

Was eacamped with Niz-ze ho-bel, 

The g-reat chief, her brother noble 

Just a thought he gave the feast day, 
Just a moment down the east lay 
His glance, then the glad swelling 
Of his heart where love was dwelling 
Crowded out the thoughts of dancing 
Round the harvest pole. Still glancing 
From the valley to the prairies. 

All of his thought was of Mo-zai-riz. 


In Vi-no-waz’ heart divinely 
Ruled the maiden, and supinely 
Lay the hours when her twinkbng, 
Saucy, loving eyes ceased sprinkling 
O’er his soul a spray of sweetness — 
For her bravery, beauty, neatness 
Was this Indian maiden famous 
In the land of of Gitch-i-day-mus. 

Niz-zi-ho-bel her great brother. 
Rescued once Vi-no-waz’ mother 
From the tortures of war-stake — 
Cruel horrors of the war -stake — 

* In the land of 0-wa-no-taz, , 

Of the infamous Da-co- tabs. 


THK COURTSHIP OF VI-NO-WAZ 


In the land of ashes-water 

Where her young men met with slaughter 

Tus-ca-men*ta, the great squaw chief, 

Was in search of a Ponca thief 
And his dark Dah-co-tah cronies. 

Who ha!d driven off her ponies, 

While she hunted on the prairies — 

Near the Walled Lakes of the prairies! 

Far she traveled, far she sought them, 
And at last she nearly caught them. 

But th,e Ponca, 0-wen don-to, 

With reinforcements turned back onto 
Tus-ca men-ta, the brave mother 
Of Vi-no-waz and his brother, 

Crazy Moose, the reckless rider— 

Both fell fighting close beside her. 
Vi-no-waz was not hurt severely. 

He was knocked down, stunted merely. 

Fiendishly the Ponca fought her, 
Fiercely raged the ghastly slaughter, 

But not until her braves lay stricken 
Did her heart begin to sicken — 

Still she fought and was not taken 
Until all her strength was shaken 
By the bloody wounds upon her — 
Nushka! but she fought with honor! 


17^ 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYKICS 


Then the brutal cowards tied her 
To a post— with fire tried her — 

But as they beg-an their cheering, 

There came rushing and careering 
Through the camp a hundred horses 
Bearing Niz-zi-ho-beTs forces. 

Soon Dah-co-tah braves, all ages. 

Fell beneath the fierce Osages. 

Vi-no-waz soon resuscitated. 

Looked upon the foes he hated, 

Saw the stark corpse of his brother. 
Saw in camp his fettered mother. 

Saw the young men, the Osages, 
Coming swiftly for the wages 
The Dak-co-tah reds had stolen 
From the great chief Zib-a-no-lan. 

Sad and weird the fruits of war! oh 
How heavily lays the sorrow 
E’en on savages hearts! Vi-no-waz 
Wept upon the. dead 1-oh-wahs — 

But he laughed when Niz-ze-ho-bal, 
From the grasslands of Ma-ko-bal 
Led his young men, fierce and hearty. 
Upon the Dah-co-tah party. 

“Niz-ze-ho-bel, be my brother, 

Thou hast saved my noble mother,” 
Was Vi-no-waz’ gallant greeting 
To the young chief at their meeting. 


THE COURTSHIP OF VI-NO-WAZ 


“Father’s wigwam in Ma-ko-bal 
Is open, come with Niz-zi-ho-bel, 

Be my guest.’’ Thus spake the chieftain — 
The Osages’ brave young chieftain. 

To their home far to the south ward— 
Bright, green prairies of the southward — 
Stopping not for ceremonies. 

The Osages on fleet ponies 
Bore the rescued brave I-oh-wahs, 
Tus-ca-men-ta and Vi-no-waz — 

Bore away the booty captured, 

Every untamed heart enraptured. 

Cyclones seldom travel faster 
Down the torn track of disaster 
Than coursed then those wild Osages 
Down the trail worn through the ages 
By the passing of the warbands — 
Constant passing of the warbands — 

On excursions, vengeful, gory, 

Daring and depredatory. 

By the sunny Wap-si- vo-lun. 

By the lodge of Zib-a-no-lan, 

By the wigwams of his village 
Where his warriors brought their pillage. 
There the valiant party halted. 
Triumphant, proud, exalted. 

And demanded that the nation 
Give a fitting celebration. 


IOWA LEGENDS\AND LYRICS 

Warsongs long and loud were chanted 
Round the scalp-post stoutly planted; 

The successful braves were lauded, 
Tus-ca-men-ta was applauded, 

And Vi-no-waz pressed to rattle 
Off a speech about the battle — 

Then the dog feast! Its grand nature! 
Expression lacketh nomencalture! 

But Vi-no-waz cared but little 
For this product of the kettle. 

And toward evening sought the wigwam 
The imposing colored wigwam — 

Of Zib-a-no-lan, the great father. 

To avoid the boastful brother 
Of the reckless, wild Osages, 

Male and female, of all ages. 

As Vi-no-Waz lightly parted 
The lodge door, out past him darted 
Like a gleam from the elysian 
Land of dreams, a happy vision. 

And the vision was Mo zai-riz, 

The wild red rose of the prairies, 
Zib-a-no-lan’s youngest daughter — 
Gracefully Vi-no-waz caught her. 

With voice musical and tender. 

In words that could not offend her, 

The young chief spoke, captivated — 
Spoke for hours, fascinated — 


THK COURTSHIP OF VI-NO-WAZ 


And his pauses, they were broken 
By her timid answers, spoken 
In low tones of honeyed sweetness — 
Voice of pure maiden sweetness! 

While the maiden listened to him. 
Her coy soul began to woo him. 

Though with outward actions clever 
It was clearly her endeavor 
To appear as only kindly — 

0 strange, strange love, how blindly 
Leadest thou young hearts together. 
Binding them with Cupid’s tether! 

Half a moon Vi-no-waz stayed there. 
While his mother’s wounds with staid care 
Were healed up in good condition 
By the able camp physician; 

And the days were full of sunshine — 
Brightest kind of lover’s sunshine! — 
Great with joy the days were laden 
For the young chief and the maiden. 

Zib-a-no-lan grandly blessed them — 
With an old chief’s warm heart blest them! 
When they spoke to him of marriage; 
Then he offered safe, free carriage 
For Vi-no-waz and his mother. 

Under guard of the chief’s brother, 

To the River of the Woodland 
Tds-ca-men-ta’s nation’s goodland. 


17S 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


When the feast of wild strawberries 
Had transpired, then would Mo-zai-riz 
Be with pomp escorted thither, 

And Niz-ze-ho-bel would be with her. 

Thus the Indian lovers parted. 

Son and mother homeward started — 

With dispatch they made the journey 
Back to their own woodlands ferny. 

They were cheered with lusty pleasure 
Cheered unto the fullest measure. 

By the hordes of staunch I-oh-wahs — 

And the hearty young Vi-no-waz 
Was with warmth congratulated 
When ’twas known he would he mated 
With the charming maid, Mo-zai-riz 
The sweet wild rose of the prairies. 

While the people of his nation 
Joyfully made preparation ' 

For the feast* of fruitful cornfields — 

Ample and abundant cornfields — 

While the corn the squaws were cooking, 
He stood on the high bluff, looking 
O’er the flower-waving prairies 
For his coming love, Mo-zai-riz. 

As he looked he fell to musing. 
Through his inmost soul infusing 
Bright thought-pictures of the beauty 
Of Mo-zai-riz, of bis duty 


THE COURTSHIP OF VI-NO-WAZ 


179 


As a husband to the fairy 
Pate permitted him to marry. 

Thinking of her thus he chanted — 
Scai*ce above a wisper chanted: 

“She has eyes of hazel sweetness, 
Eyes that beam with love’s completeness 
And the swaying of her tresses, 

And her every motion blesses, 

Blesses with a charmed motion. 

Adding to my heart’s devotion 
All the pleasures of love’s gladness. 

All the pains of lover’s madness. 

“Like the sunfish in the river, 

In the shallows all a-quiver. 

Where the pebbles gleam and sparkle. 
When no floating cloudlets darkle, 

Flash her eyes, with beauty glowing. 

All her lovely nature showing 
In the language of her glances! — 

In her soul-enriching glances! 

“Her soft foot-fall’s like a rabbit— 
Every movement every habit. 

Like a bird or harmless creature. 
Lacking naught in any feature 
That would win a rugged lover; 

E 'en the stars that shine above her 
C n clear nights give her the honor 
T » flash all their rays upon her.’’ 



180 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


OVr the prairies he descried her 
Escort coming; soon beside her 
Rode Vi-no-waz on a prancing 
Snow-white broncho, and advancing 
With her, introduced with witty. 

Happy words, his young wife pretty, 

And the people of his nation 
Their voices raised in adulation. 

And the feast to rich Mondamin, 

He that wardeth off the famine, 

Was spread out before the noble 
Warriors of Niz-ze-ho-bel; 

With the wedding feast ’twas blended 
And with double joy was ended. 

Long o’ei“ the wild and brave I-oh-wahs 
Ruled Mo-zai-riz and Vi-no-waz. 

OUR LOVE FOR TOWA 

Not for her pomp and dress when on parade. 

Not for her business nor her social grade, 

Her erudition, nor elite delights 

Though these, like eagles, wing to far grand heights. 

Do we love our proud fair Iowa the most. 

But for the excellencies dear engrossed 
Upon our hearts by communion with her streams. 
Her wopds and prairies, during childhood dreams 
And plays, and romps, and explorations, strolls. 

That followed the unfolding of our souls 
As youth and maidenhood^advanced to greet 
The place in life where “brook and river meet.” 


PART IV 


HUMAN INTEREST 
STORIES IN RHYME 
AND 

PIONEER 


VERNACULAR VERSE 






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Handsome souls and homeig phease 


Fare together to these lags. 




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Des Moines Beach on Lake Okoboji 

I love the roar of the surf-whipped shore, and the winds blowing wild and free, 

I love the sheen of the waters green and the lake’s deep mystery, 

And the wooded shores, and the bird that soars, and the crowds on the wave-washed sands. 
And the sylvan roads and the nice abodes, and the hill where the Egralharve stands. 








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bill’s schoolma’am 


18 :^ 


BILL’S SCHOOLMA’AM: 


-OR, THE POWER OF EOYE’S INSPIRATION 


INTRODUCTION 

Bill was a diamond in the rough 
Made of the proper kind of stuff, 

But lacked the lustre and the sheen 
That in the polished gem are seen. 
Absorbed he had been heretofore 
With work afield and barnyard chore; 
To plow and sow, and reap and mow, 
To plant things and to see them grow, 
Not only grasses, corn and grain. 

But garden truck, and sugar cane. 

And every kind of vine and root. 

And trees for shade, or looks or fruit. 
To him were life and joy and pride 
Above all other things beside. 

The care of horses, cattle, swine, 

From common grades to breeding fine. 
And rural tasks of every kind. 

Day in, day out, engaged his mind; 

An occupation, noble, good. 

And o^e that builds up hardihood, 


184 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And makes man a manlier man, 

(Has done so since the world began), 

But if the worker in the fields 

Lacks culture that the schoolroom yields 

Lacks mingling with his fellow men, 

His lonely, plodding toil will then 
Leave him without the grace he needs 
When lover’s cause forsooth he pleads; 
Especially when Cupid’s dart 
Has hit him squarely in the heart 
From eyes refined and smiles that twine 
Round lips of learned maiden fine. 

From circumstances when a lad. 

Bill’s early education had 
Been spare indeed, and only such 
As gave to him the smallest clutch 
On ways polite and gentle speech, 

And left them mostly out of reach. 

But a new dawn upon him shone, 

A morning fair, with rare ozone 
Refreshing all the atmosphere, 

And bringing new ambitions near 
To Bill, wide opening his eyes 
To scenes, as’t were, in paradise; 

For see! we here him amply tell 
His married sister Anabel, 

Who has just arrived by wheel and hoof 
^ For a visit ’neath the old home roof. 

His great love for the good and fair 
School teacher who’s been boarding there. 


bill’s schoolma’am 


185 


BILL’S EULOGY 

Sis, the nicest gal on the girth 
Of this great old whirlin’ earth, 

Is Miss Van Dyke! 

And I jest feel manly like 
When she’s around — 

Feel bound 

To brace up and strike out. 

Be somebody and rustle about! 

Why! though I didn’t know the work, 

I run for town clerk 

Jest to please her, and got elected. 

Which was more than I expected. 

Jim Moore 

Was the clerk before. 

And be could write 
Nuff sight 
Better’n me. 

But she 

Helped me with the books. 

So that their gin’ral looks 
Was improved quite a bit. 

And Jim, he nigh had a fit. 

. Sis, upon my word. 

She don’t look stronger than a bird, 

And when she came to teach our school. 
One that bucked agin every rule. 

And had the teachers round about 
All of ’em purty well scart out. 


186 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Folks allowed 

That the rantankerous crowd 
Of urchins would play 
Havoc with her very first day; 

But she didn’t have no trouble, 

Though the attendance it was double. 
Y’see, the news had gotten out 
That her certif’cate was first class, 

And they had come from far about, 

But every lad and lass, 

Even tough young Bud McBrewer, 

First thing sorty took right to her, 

And they’re all a learnin’ fast, 

Twict as much as in the past. 

Hpr strength lays in her heart, 

A id in the educatni’ art 
She’s jest invincible. 

For she knows every principle, 

Got them all into her head 

And knows how youngsters should be led. 

When she came here to board, I said, 
“Mother, I’ll eat out in the shed; 

I’m too rough and humly 

To set at the table with so comely 

A little gal as that — 

Tam, or I’ll swaller my hat.’’ 

But the schoolma’am said she’d go. 

If I kept on actin’ so. 

Which was the reason why. 

That, by and by. 


18 


bill’6 schoolma’am , 

I brushed up slick and good, 

Combed my ha’r as fine’s I could, 

And went in and* set down to the table, 
And did the best that I was able 
To be jest right and proper. 

But I blushed as red as copper, 

While the blood it pricked and tingled in 
my skelp, 

The which I couldn’t help. 

But I soon forgot my fright, 

She was so amiable and perlite. 

And we got acquainted right away, 

Thar* actually, or I’ll eat hay. 

Friday nights I took her home 
Down the river road, by Eagle Dome, 
And Monday mornin’s brought her back, 
With the sorrel geldin’s that have paced 
the track. 

And can take buggy’r cutter over the road 
In a 3- minute clip, with two for a load. 
When other company wasn’t here, 

We’ve read and visited under the cheer 
Of the hangin’ lamp in the settin’ room. 
Night after night, in the winter time. 

Till the hall clock struck the midnight 
chime — 

I could stay with her thar till the hour of 
doom! 

M ny’s the things I’ve learnt of her, 

C eople and countries near and fer; 


1S8 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Many of the stars I know by name, 

And nigh every animal, wild and tame. 
And of plants, insects, and microbes, too, 
A thousand and one things 1 never knew, 
Till she, bless her heart, came here to 
board; 

But Sis, old pard. I’ll jest be floored 
If even she can help me out 
In the awful grammar you know about; 
And in manners grand, and etiquette, 
Things like them, I hain’t got ’em yet. 

Is she purty? Well, I should say! 
Purty as the break of day! 

Why, her hands is jest likelillies, and her 
eyes. 

They are pictures from the skies — 

And them teeth! 

You should see ’em shine beneath 
Her lips, when they’re slightly parted. 
Jest when a smile has started 
On that face that Heaven lent her 
Face fashioned by some inventer 
’Mong God’s angels up above — 

W’y Sis, ’twould make you love 
Every inch of her. ’Mazin’ grace! 

But she has the sweetest face 
Ever I see; 

Hear me? 

And them little feet o’ hern, 

Each a wee bit cute concern. 


bill’s schoolma’am 


189 


Jest as purty as her hands! 

Don’t see how she stands 
So handy 

On such dainty bits o’ candy 
As them feet! 

Is she neat? 

Bless you, yes! 

And the bewitchin’est dress 
That ever was, she wore 
Last Sunday; you’d a swore 
That she jest floated like a fay 
In it, ’stead of walkin’; it’s a way 
She has that makes her seem 
Like somethin’ seen in a dream 
One has had, but don’t jest recollect, 

’Cept the lingerin’ nice effect. 

Job and Moses! 

She jest moves in flounces, lace and roses,* 
Like they was air and she a spirit — 

I can’t describe it nor come near it. 

And grit! 

Say, I haven’t told you yit. 

Bless her soul! 

How she pulled me from the hole 
Down in Wolf Creek pond last winter; 
Sis, I can’t begin ter 
Tell in a likely way about it. 

But mustn’t ’tempt to pass without it. 
We’d been out fer a skate. 

And *twas gittin’ kindy late, 


190 IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

For the supper bell had rung. 

And our skates jest sung 
As we came around the bend 
Down at the end 

Of Catamount Holler, when z-z-i-p! 
r made a slip. 

Somehow, and like a chunk 
Came down kerplunk 
Whar the ice was thin, 

And it broke and let lis in. 

I tell you t’want no joke a goin’ under, 
And the broken ice a punchin’ 

And a munchin and acrunchin' 

In the water makin thunder 
Round our ears! 

Fears? 

I had a thousand, but they was for the girl 
And when we went down in the whirl. 
Thinks I 
She’ll die 

In this awful muss, 

But no use to make a fuss, 

And when we arose, 

Soaked, chokin’ and almost froze, 

I jest grabbed her to my breast. 

And did my level best 
To help her out onto safe ice. 

Which I did, soon and nice; 

But the effort made me sink. 

And when agin I heard the clink 
Of the ice above my bead, 




MY GRANDSON 


0 were you e’er a grandpa, 

And did you ever trot 1 

Your own lad’s bairn upon your knee? 

If so, I tell you what! 

The frolics that you had with him, 11 

Bibbitty-bob, and so! | 

Wasn’t it jolly good, my man. 

To hear the rascal crow? I 

Wasn’t it jolly good, my man, 

To hear his baby talk? I 

Wasn’t it jolly good, my man, m 

To help him learn to walk? 

He reached right into your granddad heart 
With his chubby baby hands, I 

And was the boss of the whole ranch 
With babyhood demands. 

0 here’s to my grandson! May he grow 
In vision and soul and worth. 

As well as in avoirdupois and height, | 

And may his mental girth j 

Be like a girdle around the world 

When he is big and grown, | 

And may his deeds, like golden grain, | j 

Grow tall where he has sown. 


bill’s schoolma’am 


m 


I said, Bill, this time you’re dead; 

But once more I riz up to the top 
And managed thar to stop, 

But I couldn’t git no hold 
Of the ice, 1 was so cold. 

I was so numb and weak 
That I couldn’t hardly speak, 

But I managed somehow thar 
To ask the gal to make a pra’r, 

For she’s a prime Christian, if I do say. 
And a ust to prayin’ — every day; 

But in the Bible she had read 
That faith without works is dead. 

And afore I knew what she was doin’, 
’Stid o’ screamin’ or boohooin’ 

As some would’ve done, 

She took a little run. 

And yanked a rail from the fence. 

And with stiddy common sence. 

Hooked the end that had the nail 
Firmly onto my coat-tail. 

Braced with her skate heels in the ice. 
Pulled, and in a trice 
I was out. 

On my feet 
Slick and neat. 

Both of us enroute 
Fer the house. 

Soaked and drippin’ from the douse. 


\92 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Wish I was handsome and a scholar; 
I’d give every dollar 
I’ve got, 

On the spot 

If I wan’t so rough, 

Mainly, 

And ungainly; 

If I was refined enough 
I could talk to Miss Van Dyke 
Handy like , 

’Bout the angels and sich things, 

’Bout fairies and their golden wings, 
’Bout the moon and glowin’ sunsets, and 
Silver clouds and mountains grand. 

And flowery dells and shady nooks. 

And all the purty things that poets tell of 
their books. 

Stid of bein’ a bashful dunce. 

I’d go at once. 

And in the eloquentest purty talk, 
Without a balk, 

I’d explain how I feel. 

Bring it woe or bring it weak 

But you and me, Sis, 

Didn’t have the chance some has had. 

For when you was a slight miss 
And me a lad, 

You know how father died. 

And how we tried 
With every kind o’ shift 


BILL’S SCHOOLMA’AM 


U)3 


To help mother lift 

The mortgage from the farm, 

And keep the younger one’s from harm, 
And how the mortgage it was paid 
From the money that we made, 

Workin’, stayin’ home from school, 

But makin’ it the rule 
That the little tads must go; 

Now Dick and Joe 
Are both at the varsity 
Makin’ up for the scarcity 
Of learnin’ in the family group, 

And may they never have to stoop. 

But keep a goin’ up and up, 

Till they can drink from Learnin’s highest 
cup. 

I’m proud of them boys! 

They’re no toys. 

But strong limbed, stiddy headed^ big 
hearted 

Lads, and I’m glad we started 
Them as we did. Mother is so proud 
That she has many time’s allowed 
That father couldn’t have done better 
By ’em anyhow, 

Even if he’d lived till now. 

For we’ve carried out the letter 
( f his wishes as he told ’em fore he died. 
Now thar’s ’nough for mother and plenty 
to divide 


194 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And, Sis, I’ve jest a notion to 
Leave the farm with Uncle Lou, 

Take a little breathin’ spell, 

And jump into learnin’ — pell mell! 

Sis, tain’t too late. 

Is it at the age of twenty-eight? 

Wish Miss Van Dyke could love me. 

But she kindy feels above me. 

Bein’ learned and refined — 

Say! Sis, it’s an awful grind 
To be ignorant and awkward and to know 
That one’s drawbacks they all show 
When one gits into a crowd 
Whar the people they are proud 
Of their wealth, fine clothes, their handy 
talk. 

And easy manners, without a balk. 

But I’m bound 

To quit a crawlin’ on the ground. 

So to speak. 

And I’m a goin’ next week 

Away to school, to study up a little. 

And if I can whittle 

Away at books with good success, 

I guess 

I’ll study to be a doctor, or a — preacher. 
For I’m a goin’ to reach her, 

I vum! jest as sure as never fail, — 

If I have to go through Yale. 


bill’s schoolma’am 


THE HAPPY OUTCOME 

Somebody in the hammock swung, 
Outside the window, where it hung 
Beneath the maples’ dappled shade. 

And every jesture' that Bill made 
Was seen by her, and every word 
He spoke, with raptured heart she heard. 
A noble little women she. 

Who entered in right heartily 
To William’s plans to train his mind 
And higher fields in life to find, 

But ah! she was a pilot, too, 

A wiser one than me or you. 

She safely steered him past the shoals 
Where wrecked have been ten thousand 
souls 

Who yearned to wear a cleric’s gown. 

Or lead the medics of the town. 

Or be admitted to the bar. 

Or musically pose, a star; 

Professions that are over done. 

Aspired to by every one. 

Or thereabout, who strives to climb 
Atop of learned heights sublime. 

A farmer he, already skilled. 

Foundation good on which to build 
An education high and grand. 

Much needed in this granger land. 


VMS 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Why spoil a farmer true and sound, 
Possessing knowledge only found ^ 

In contact with the simple life, 

By crowding him into the strife 
Ignoble that abounds among 
M. D.’s and clergy, old and young? 

So Miss Van Dyke and Joe 
Persuaded Bill straightway to go 
To a school of agriculture that 
Would put him where he should be at; 
And after study, long and deep, 

And scientific stunts a heap 
Experiments in fields and stalls, 

And four long years in learning’s halls. 
Some travel and experience 
That you and I would call immense. 
Friend William he became renowned, 
The very best that could be found. 

In scientfic husbandry. 

Adept and capable, you see. 

His services are in demand 
All over our beloved land, 

E’en to the islands of the sea, 

As expert in agronomy. 

And all its allied sciences. 

And their varied appliances. 

We call him now “Professor Bill,” 
And cheer him with a hearty will; 

He has an angel at his side — 

The little schoolma’am is his bride. 


HOW JOE MADE GOOD 


HOW JOE MADE GOOD 


Joe was a good-for-nothing lad, 
Just a burden on his dad; 

Fell down in his work at school, 

Dull as Tom’s gonsarned old mule; 
Liked to tell bad-tastin’ tales, 

Smoked a lot of coffin-nails; 

Swelled up chesty when he cussed, 
Morals covered up with dust, 

Thought he was a sporty chap, 

Always struck in with his yap 
When prize fights was up for talk, 

Or wrastler on the walk; 

And he knew the base ball score 
Of a dozen leagues or more. 

Billiards? Well, he held a cue 
That put the old game up to you — 
And of course he knew the hang 
Of a mighty heap of slang; 

But he was just good for nix. 

And he stayed in that same fix 
Till one day the “Dairy Train,” 

Loaded down with corn and grain. 
Apparatus in great store. 

Charts and pictures, too, galore. 

Dairy cows and fruits and sich. 

Things to make the farmers rich. 

And speakers that could talk an arm 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Off plugs like me just from the farm, 
Snorted into Joseph’s town, 

And stopped and held the sidetrack down 
While the experts talked with speed 
’Bout fertility and seed. 

Transportation, storage cold. 

Markets where the stuff is sold. 

Horses, cattle, sheep and land, 

Butter, cheese, supply, demand, 

While the cars and depot swarmed 
With guys that came to be informed. 

Joe, the first chap on the ground, 

Follered the professors round, 

Interested from the start. 

Took it in with all his heart; 

Got excited ’bout milch cows, ^ 

And struck right in at once to browse 
’Mong exhibits in the cars 
To study the particulars; 

Learned the seed corn testin^ scheme. 
How to feed for beef and cream 
How to judge a boss or cow, 

How to harrow and to plow. 

Plant and till and garner in 
To get the fullest crib or bin; 

Asked a heap o’ questions that 
For a boy seemed mighty pat. 

And, gol durn ’im, wouldn’t rest 
From the knowledge gettin’ quest 
Till from them chaps from Ames he drew 
Nigh about all that they knew. 


HOW JOE MADE GOOD 


U)9 


Toot-toot! away skiddooed the train, 
Across the snow bemantled plain! 

Joe followed it with wistful look, 

Till out of sight, then pulled a book 
Outen his pocket-book a slim 
Ames college chap had handed him. 

Right there began a change in Joe, 
Straightened up an inch er so, 

’Lowed that he’d just calculate 
To study up, investigate. 

Experiment and read and learn; 

Didn’t seem to give a durn 
Any more for sports and sich. 

Dumped things like them into the ditch. 
Cut his slang and coffin-nails. 

And frosted them bad-tastin’ tales. 

A good roads expert he became, 

And sensible about that same. 

Ideas helpful, keen and sure 
’Bout building highways to endure. 
Knows when and how to plant and reap 
Root crops and grain to raise a heap. 

And when and what and how to spray, 
Inseccs, worms and germs to slay; 

How to drain the low wet lands. 

Irrigate the desert sands. 

And keep hillsides from washing out. 

Put weasels, rats and hawks to rout, 
Raise poultry of the winning sort. 

Make every farm a health resort. 


IOWA LEGKNDS AND LYKICS 


And how to put a razor edge 
On ax or sickle, spade or wedge, 

Make the apple trees produce 
More fruit, with better flavored juice; 

Fell trees, build bridges and blast rock, 
And how with fish the streams to stock; 
Knows how to fertilize a field, 

And how to till for biggest yield — 
Whether cotton, oats or rye, 

Tobaeco, cabbage — or, oh my — 

Celery or rice or wheat, 

Potatoes (Irish kind or sweet), 

Alfalfa, blue grass, kaffir corn, 

C over, buckwheat — sure’s you’re born — 
Sugar beets or Indian maize — 

Any crop one wants to raise! 

The seasons bow at his behest. 

Silos? he can build the best. 

And fill them to the very eaves 
With fodder green for cows or beeves. 
Sheep or swine to eat, when snows 
Lie cold without, and winter blows 
Its fiercest blasts across the land 
But warm in stables fatly stand 
The cattle from a thousand hills, 

Secure from winter’s blighting chills. 

He knows of “conservation”, too. 

And how and when and what to do 
To save our forests and our streams. 

And go beyond our fondest dreams 


HOW JOE MADE GOOD 


•^01 


In helping navigation to 
Increase and put on liffe anew 
On all the rivers, south and north, 

And bring them into greater worth. 
Expert at planning barns is he. 

Can harness wind and electricity. 

Dig wells, pull stumps, or grandly speak 
At farmer’s institutes a week. 

Can tell us how to kill the weeds. 

And what are likeliest kinds of feeds. 

And how to breed up good livestock 
For speed or milk or butcher s block. 

And how to pick and pack and sell — 

All of these things he can tell. 

And a thousand other things or so 
Up-to-date farmers need to know. 

A man is he, clear to the bone, 

And widely through the land is known. 
Honored for his moral worth 
And usefulness on this old earth. 

This tale I tell so all may know 
The good that fell to my friend Joe. 

And many boys of doubtful mood. 
Lazy, sporty, ruthless, rude. 

Could be inspired with useful zeal 
And brought determinedly to feel 
A highborn purpose, a desire 




IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

To forge ahead, to climb up higher 
Into the fruitful, better fields 
Of human effort, where the yields 
Of heart and soul and mind are fair 
And full of golden harvests rare — 
Could be inspired, if we could bring 
Into their lives the proper thing 
To kindle their ambition, and 
Present to them the vision grand 
Of noble prizes to be won 
By each and all beneath the sun 
Who strive with noble* hearted zest 
To give the world their very best. 


THE FABMEH’S SONG 

When the corn is sere and the golden ear 
Is plucked in the golden haze 
Of the autumn time in the sun sublime 
Of Indian Summer days, 

0 then would I fare in the outdoor air 
And breathe the rare ozone. 

And enjoy the charm of life on the farm. 
While reaping what 1 have sown. 


OOW BOY jack’s story 


203 


COWBOY JACK’S STORY 

AS HE TOEH IT TO THE SCOUT 

INTRODUCTION 

When Nebraska was wild and new, 

I think it was in seventy-two, 

Away out in the western part, 

Far from city or village mart, 

A night-worn soldier drew the rein 

Near a ranchman’s shack, nor stopped 'in vain, 

For Cowboy Jack of frontier fame, 

Known far and wide by bis plainsman’s name. 
Was there to greet the stranger, and 
Grasp him warmly by the hand. 

The soldier rode an army nag. 

So weary it could hardly drag; 

He wore a captain’s uniform, 

A scouting dress both strong and warm; 

He had encountered hostile Sioux, 

Been chased by wolves an hour or two; 

Had nearly perished in a gale 
That thrashed the prairie like a flail 
With chilling blast and rain and hail; 

Had lost his way, his rations gone, 


20+ 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYKICS 


Ah, he was happy when the dawn 
Scattered the wolves and showed the way 
In which his trail’s direction lay. 

With his adventures of the night 
Told like a soldier, terse and right. 

He loosened the cinch of his saddle, and 
Flung himself on the sun- warmed sand. 

The adventures had reminded Jack 
Of things that had happened some years back 
To him and his. With thoughtful look 
He a sweeping glance of the prairie took — 
Then, after meditative stroke 
Of his hand across his brow, he spoke: 

JACK’S STORY 

Had a fight last night with the Injuns? Well, 
’Twas a savage night to be out. 

And the rain was as heavy as ever fell — 

Say! ain’t you a gover’ment scout? 

Thought so! I used to be a scout myself, 

Then got into the ranging way. 

And stick to it ez I make more pelf. 

And am free to go or to stay. 

Your speakin’ of the rain, the wolves, the fight, 

An’ the numerous Sioux about. 

Puts me in mind of jest sich a night 
Some years ago and I was out. 


cow BOY jack’s story 


20 0 


The thunders roared and the lightnin’s flashed, 

And the wind blew a hurricane, 

The elements rastled and tore and clashed 
Ez if the nigrht had gone insane. 

I Was ridin’ well armed along the range. 

Mounted snug on a broncho stanch. 

But I felt somew’at narvous and jest a bit strange. 
For I’d lost the trail to the ranch. 

The night it was cold and jet black dark, 

The wolves howled along my trail 
Like a hundred demons let loose on a lark; 

And I felt jest a trifle pale. 

To complicate things, I heard a war hoop, 

A fierce yell, that echoed and broke 
Like the Wild Witch’s shriek up on old North Loup, 
And nigh startled me out of my “yoke.” 

I sat still and dumb, like a chap that’s scared 
And didn’t know what to do next. 

And Spry, my broncho, jest squatted and reared 
Fer she, too, was scared and perplexed. 

A boom o’ guns and a white man’s shout, 

Ez he cheered his pards to fight. 

Aroused me in a jiff to turn about. 

And we plunged back into the night. 

The yells and the shootin’ kept us in line. 

And we made for it quick as we could. 


206 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


I pulled my revolver and old carbine, — 

They were spunky and loaded good. 

We landed plunk into a hundred Sioux, 

Bloody varmints, all painted and stark; 

Sury jumped and I shot and we made our way thru, 
Without loosin’ a bit of bark. 

We came to a halt in a mover’s camp, 

And was given a hearty cheer; 

We all j’ined hands and gave the braves the cramp. 
So they skuddled and left us clear. 

The night and the rain went off with the Reds, for 
We had fought till the gray of morn; 

We was mighty glad we had closed the war, 

Not feelin a bit forlorn. 

None of us was hurt, but a dozen Sioux 
Had been carried away so lame 

Ez to show clear ’nough ’at they’d got their dues, 
^ And with none but ’emselves to blame. 

We was shakin’ hands like pard and friend. 

When a scream startled us, so wild 

That the hair on our heads just stood on end— 
’Twas the cry of a little child! 

A sneakin’ Red had come up on the sly. 

And had captured a little tod. 

And was ridin’ swift toward the northern sky— 
Whizzee! how he traveled the sod! 


COWBOY jack’s story 


207 


The rest of ’em j’ined him, and off they went 
A scuddin’ toward Old Camp Meade, 

And’t seemed’s though the Old Nick himself had lent 
’Em especial powers o’ speed. 

The mother cried that little Marie 

Would be burned to death at the stake, 

And the father was as crazy as she. 

And the boys was all in a shake. 

I threw off my coat, jumped into the yoke, 

And pulled my hatchet from the sack; 

Afore you could wink I was goin’ like smoke, 
Stoutly settled on Old Spry’s back. 

And ’fore I knew jest what we was about 
We was among them pesky reds. 

And I got the child from the clutch of a lout 
And broke in a half dozon heads. 

Then Spry sprang about (oh, she knew the trick! 
She learnt it while herdin’ cows 

For she was trained for the range) and right quick 
We left ’em ’thout any fareWell bows. 

The Reds turned for us, but Spry was a goer, 

And w e led ’em a crazy chase. 

Till after a while they gave us floor. 

For we had the best of the race. 

I rode into camp like a knight of old, 

With beauty hung faint on my arm, 


208 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And I felt like a hero, brave and bold, 

With a heart beatin’ strong and warm. 

The boys pulled me down soon as Isaid “whoa!” 

The mother hugged me tight an’ kist 

Me jest as my mother did years ago — 

In the years gone back into mist! 

I cried like a child, sir, yes sir, boss. 

When that mother’s arm twined my neck — 

It was as a life-line throw out across 
The hulk of a foundered wreck. 

For I had been tough in my cowboy life, 

Hadn’t always stuck to the right; 

Had mixed up a good deal in frontier strife. 

Which is seldom exactly white. 

And then when the old man came for’ard and stood 
Pale and tremblin’ and seemin’ faint. 

And shook my bad hand as if I was good. 

And blessed me as one would a saint — 

Well, I had to surrender right there and then! 

Said I; “Kind friends. I’m Cowboy Jack, 

Hain’t been no account since I can’t tell when 
And run with a dare-devil pack. 

I’m known here ’bouts as a mighty tough case, 

A bad one, when it comes to fight — 

A fellow what’s got a purty hard face 
When looked at by civilized light. 


COWBOV JACK’S STORY 


209 


But if God stays by me and helps in the chore, 

I’ll swear off, and brace up, right; 

I’ll kick my bad habits out of the door, 

And fight ’em with all my might. 

If the mother here,' God bless her good heart! 

She is surely a Christian ti ue. 

Will give me a lift with ‘a pra’r for a start, 

I’ll swear to be a man, true blue.” 

The mother knelt on the buffalo grass. 

And in accents tender and low. 

Thanked God that the life of her blue-eyed lass 
Had been saved, that the cruel blow 

m 

Had been warded off. Then she prayed for Jack; 
Called me brave, big-hearted and good. 

Asked God in his kindness to take me back— 

And she told him she knew he would — 

Into the walls of his wondrous fold. 

Into the arms of his great love; 

That my name as a convert be enrolled 
On the big book there above. 

This was all I heard, for objects grew dim, 

And I seemed to float — float — away — 

In a cold, dizzy dream, to the dark brim 
Of a storm-beaten ocean bay — 

To a cottage small on a hillside bare. 

The picture of my boyhood home. 


210 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And I seemed to dwell for a moment there, 

In the warmth of mother’s room. 

Then I felt no more — was like one dead — 

But when I ’roused from the spell, 

I found myself in a warm, cozy bed. 

Peelin’ weaklike, but mid lin’ well. 

My pard. Big Bill, was settin’ by my side, 

Fannin’ me with his old slouch hat. 

And when I “come to’’ I thought he’d a died 
With his laughin’, prancin’ and that. 

“Whist!” said he, “Ye fainted, old boy, yer hurt^ 
A gash in the back of y'er head — 

Wonder it hadn’t laid ye in the dirt 
Instid of a snug feather bed. 

“The redskins gave ye an ugly slit 

In yer scrap with ’em down the creek. 

But as good luck has it yer right here yit, 

And’ll be all right in a week.’’ 

Then he went to the door and called the folks 
And capered so he’d clear gone daft. 

Jest started in fer stories and jokes. 

And hollered, and sung and laughed. 

And I thought the rest as loony as he. 

When they dashed in, every one. 

And the lass I saved bounced up and hugged me 
And the rest did as she had done. 


cow BOY jack’s story 


211 


Yelled Bill: “Old pard, ye lit in the right nest 
When ye struck that mover’s camp — 

See yer mammy, sister, dad and the rest, 

Aint ye tickled, ye wuthless scamp?” 

’Twas mother sure as your alive, 

And sweet little sister, too. 

That was born long after 1 came to strive 
In the land of the savage Sioux. 

’Twas dad and the boys that I helped that night 
In the fight on the open plain. 

And sister, dear, I saved (bless her sight) 

From the fire stake’s horror aud pain. 

They had come out west in search of good times; 

They was purty hard up back there. 

But they’d all been dead as old Pap Grimes, 

If’t hadn’t been for me’n the mare. 

The folks settled down here on my old ranch, 

And here we all live to-day. 

Right on the old trial to Camp Commanch, 

Eighty mile from there; so they say. 

We’re as happy as can be the whole through; 

Say! it’s gettin’ nigh about noon. 

Better picket your hoss down there in the slough. 
We’ll have dinner now purty soon. 

There’s blood on yer arm, boy! they winged ye — hey? 
Dead sure! only a flesh wound, though; 


212 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Come into the house — the woman folks they 
Will doctor you up so-so. 

Tonight we’re goin’ to have a party here, 

A weddin, if I my say; 

’Taint often you scouts fall in with such cheer, 
Say you had better stay. 

It’s goin’ to be quit a time, you see, 

For Cap’n Joe Tumms, of Fort Knapp, 

Is goin, to be j’ined with little Marie — 

They say he’s a fine young chap. 

She met him in Denver a year ago. 

And they’ve been courtin’ by mail ever since; 

She’s the pet of the ranch, and, don’t you know. 
Her goin’ sort of makes me wince. 

She’s the sweetest angel under the sky. 

And if Joe don’t use her as such, 

He’ll have to tell me the reason why, 

I’m free to predict that much. 

He was here last fall with Buffalo Bill, 

Then again this spring with his troop 

To meet General Sherman at Baldwin’s Hill 
And escort him down the Loup. 

But I was away both times he came; 

Hadn’t even seen his picture, so 

Wouldn’t know him from any other game 
Passin’, as you might say, to and fro. 


COWBOY JACK’S STORY 


213 


From hear say he must be about your size, 

And — what’s that? Well! you’re Cap’n Tumms! 
And here comes Marie on the run! My eyes! 
They’re a huggin’ like two old chums! 


JACK’S OWN ROMANCE 

After Marie had gone away 
Jack was so lonesome he couldn’t stay; 
Leaving his father in care of the place, 

He kissed his mother’s dear old face. 

And saddled Spry, and took his gun, 

Mounted, and struck for the rising sun. 

News had come from away down east — 
That’s what his mother said, at least — 

That bis old sweetheart was out of a home. 
Her fortune sunk ’neath the ocean’s foam. 

Years ago, on a gloomy day 
She had quarreled with Jack and sent him away; 
Angry and jealous and almost wild. 

He; had gone before they were reconciled — 
Gone to the west, far away to roam 
O’er the desert sand and the prairie loam. 
Where the fierce Cheyenne and hostile Sioux 
Were the only neighbors at first he knew. 

Reckless and bold Jack grew full fast— 
Adventurer, scout and cattleman — last. 
Though, frontiersman of solid worth 


214 iOW A LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

True as you’ll find on this old Earth, 

Man among men, a friend true blue, 

Brave as a lion, through and through. 

Many a time his heart had yearned 
To lay the all that he had earned 
Down at the feet of her who held 
His heart in her hand — who in days of eld. 
When he was a lad and she a lass. 

Had won a love that could not pass, 

Whate’er of tragedy or pain. 

Or girlish pride or mad disdain. 

Should hurl the cruelly poignant dart 
Of lover’s taunt through a loyal heart. 

Now mounted on Spry, queen of the range, 
Heart pounding strongly with feelings strange. 
Away he rode to catch a train 
Hurrying eastward to the main. 

For the nearest station fast he sped. 

Beating all records, so ’tis said — 

At least. Big Bill brags to this day, 

In his blustering, laughing, hearty way. 

How Spry carried Jack on that great trip. 
Good sixty miles ’thout stop or slip. 

Leaving Spry in care of a friendly hand. 
Jack took a train for the eastern land. 

In a village on Long Island Sound, 

In the old home neighborhood he found 
The sweetheart of his boyhood days , 

True to a love that ever stays — 


215 


COW BOY JACK’S STORY 

Maiden still with angel grace 
Showing yet in her handsome face. 

My pencil falters in my hand — 

Words fall short of phrases grand, 

Or soft, or low, or true, or sweet 
Enough to tell how lovers greet 
One another when the stress 
Of years apart, and bitterness, 

Heartaches and awful yearning end. 

And they speak again as friend to friend. 
And bury the past except the part 
That binds them closer heart to heart. 

Jack and his old sweetheart “made up”. 
As the saying goes. Filled was their cup 
Of joy, their happiness complete 
Amid old associations sweet. 

Soon forth they fared, a groom and bride. 

And started on the western ride 

That was their wedding tour, forsooth. 

Aye happy more than if in youth 
Or tender years they had been led 
The matrimonial path to tread. 


O WHAT IS SO WELCOME? 

When approaching home in the moonless dark 
O what is so welcome as Old Shep’s bark? 

Or light in the window, set by one so true 
That when you’re away she is thinking of you? 


216 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


JOSH’S IDEAS OF HEAVEN 


Say, Bill, I’ve been a thinkin’ ’bout the sights in 
Paradise, 

The jasper walls and sea of life, beyond the starry 
skies, 

The golden streets and gates of pearl, and all sich 
things as them, 

That we’re a hopin’ for tew see in the New Jeru- 
salem. 

I’ve been a thinkin’ of the time when yew and I 
will be 

A singin’ with the glorified, thar by the crystal sea. 

And shakin’ hands and visitin’ with friends long 
gone before, 

And walkin’ with the blessed ones along the 
golden shore. 

Or settin’ in the parlor of the house not made with 
hands. 

Or list’nin’ tew the music played by great angelic 
bands; 

But ere we go tew that fair land the Father has 
prepared. 

Let us thank Him for the goodly things on which 
we here have fared. 


josh’s ideas of heaven 


217 


Let us thank him for the cattle grazin’ on a thou- 
sand hills, 

For meadows green, the teemin’ fields, the rivers, 
brook and rills, 

The rugged bluffs, the shady groves, and landscapes 
fair tew see. 

All over fairy Iowa, where’er we chance tew be 

Air the jasper walls more lovely than the Pictured 
Rocks along 

The Mississippi river? If they air, then I am wrong! 

And I’m wrong if golden sunrise or the sunsets I 
adore 

Aint beautifuller than the sights thar on the golden 
shore. 

Is the crystal sea more purty than the Okoboji lakes. 

Or the angels’ song more witchin’ than the raptured 
wildbird makes. 

Or the golden streets entrancin’ more than the 
country lanes we see 

Down here in good old Iowa? Now, Bill jest please 
tell me! 

Air things more handsome, think yew, in the “land 
of pure delight’’. 

Than the Cedar river country, with a river view in 
sight? 

Or can the soul be happier in the “land of fairer 
day’’ 

Than in the purty valley of the Upper Iowa? 


218 JOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

The Devil’s Backbone, eerie name, on the Maquoketa, 

is a bonnie book of nature — jest takes my eye — and 
say! 

Don’t it make yew think of heaven when yew stroll 
and grandly dream 

Mid scenes like that, where God has walked in rap- 
tured thought supreme? 

These here air jest a triflin’ few of things the Lord 
has done 

For fair and charming Iowa — the list is jest begun! 

But here’s enough tew bring tew mind a panarama 
grand, 

A heaven here on earth, my friend, a more than 
Beulah Land. 

Abidin’ faith is in my heart that sometime I will see 

The Master in His beauty, and thaf he will welcome 
me. 

But he expects us all to know and tew appreciate 

What he’s a doin’ for us here, down in the Hawk- 
eye State. 

And I’m a jest agoin’ for tew open wide my soul 

Tew all His gen’rous sunshine, and tew let His 
blessin’s roll 

On on my heart, from this time on, and use all I 
possess • 

In nat’ral gifts and wealth acquired, tew show my 
thankfulness. 


josh’s questions 


210 


JOSH’S QUESTIOi^^S 

Did yew ever meet yer sweetheart on the farm 
house steps as she 

Came out a smilin’, anxious like, yet a little bashfully 

And yew follered, heart a thumpin’, as she sweetly 
said, “Come in,” 

And her mammy spoke a welcome and her daddy 
shook yer fin? 

Did yew ever in the darkness stop at the farmyard 
gate, 

Lights a blinkin’ in the winders, time jest a trifle 
late 

Ajnd hear Old shep come snarlin’ tew the fence and 
rushin’ threw, 

Jest tew wag his tail in welcome when he found 
that it was yew? 

Did yew ever, unexpected, came back home tew stay 
a spell, 

And tew eat of mother’s cookin’, and tew see the 
and — well! 

It sort o’ touched ye, didn’t it, when yer mammy 
said, “My boy!” 

The tears a kind o’ shinin’ in her eyes fer very joy? 

Did yew ever at the depot look around with home- 
sick twang 

A pickin’ at yer heartstrings— no one there tew 
meet ye? — bang! 


220 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


A slap upon yer shoulder nearly bruk yer shoulder 
blade! 

Yew looked up, and it was father, come with Doll 
and Sorrel Maid. 

And the old man, not much at talkin’, grasped yew 
warmly by the hand, 

So glad tew see ye he forgot the words of welcome 
he had planned. 

And in a ketchy voice said only, as he helped ye o’er 
the wheel, 

“Ma jest dotes on your home comin,’ ah, how good 
it makes her feel!” 

Did yew ever play at forfeits at a party out o’ town, 

Firecrackin, in the wood stove, outside snow a com 
in’ down, 

And yew paid yer forfeit, blushin’, “pickin’ cherries” 
with a girl 

That was so tarnal purty that she set yer heart 
awhirl? 

Did yew ever pass the schewlhouse jest as schewl 
was out, ye know. 

Take the schewlma’am in yer buggy, and then let 
“Old Fanny” go. 

And drive four miles while talkin’ tew the best 
schewlma’am on earth 

Fore ye druv back tew whar she boarded? Then 
yew know what life is worth. 


josh’s old oaken sawbuck 


221 


JOSH’S 

OLD OAKEN SAWBUCK 

How frought with dear scenes air the days of my 
childhood 

When Memory’s phantom brings them intew view, 
The swim hole and the fish pond away down in the 
wildwood. 

Resortin’ tew which I ne’er could eschew; 

The wide-spreadin’ green where we pastured Old 
Brindle, 

Our kind-eye old bossie, whose milk was sweet 
As the thoughts that a fellow’s first love letters 
kindle; 

But tew offset said charms was that awful old cheat, 
Our old oken sawbuck, our rickety sawbuck, 

Our X Y Z sawbuck, with its loose, wabbly feet. 

That battle-scarred relic I hailed with displeasure 
When grieved tew the heart I was called from my 
play 

Tew contend with the woodpile’s hard high-corded 
treasure. 

At morning, at night, in the heat of the day. 

Or when in the winter the wild-roaring blizzard 
Sawed away at the air in demoniac glee, 

Then I got — ’tis no dream— just as mad as a lizzard. 
And in angry rebillion I wanted tew flee 


222 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


From that old oaken sawbuck, that rickety sawbuck 
That X Y Z sawbuck; yew bet, yes-sir-ree! 

I fondly remember when I was a youngster 
How I loved tew go down tew the old poplar grove 
And visit Dame Nature, dear heart, there amongst ’er 
Wild flowers and vines and around there to rove 
With chipmunks and squirrels and other wee 
creatures, 

Until I was called tew the woodpile again. 

That bane of my childhood’s else- wise happy features. 
With its sawbuck that filled my young life with pain 
The old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck. 

The X Y Z sawbuck that made me complain. 

In those boyhood days I used tew play marbles. 
Gather in dragon flies and other bugs, 

And whistle like skylark that joyously warbles 
As its small heart into the heaven it lugs; 

I used tew climb trees, and ride the grey pony. 

And wade in the streamlet that flowed from the 
spring. 

And clamber the hillsides with Billy, my crony, 

Until choretime, which ever was sure tew bring 
The old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck. 

The X Y Z sawbuck, which was still in the ring. 

That sawbuck stands out like an awful excrescence 
From the frolics and joys of my sweet boyhood days. 
For right in the midst of the grand efflorescence 
''Of memories happy like a griffin it stays. 


The “banks and braes o’ bonnie Doone,’’ 

Or in the Mountains of the Moon, 

Or lakes or rapids, scenes that please. 

In native land or over-seas, — 

Among them all my choice would be, 

The Volga! That’s the place for me! 

Ah, surely, I would e’er prefer 
The moss grown cliff and rocky spur. 
Plumed here and there with shrub and fern! 
The landscape-charms at every turn — 



Scene on the Volga River near Fayette 
Courtesy Upper Iowa University 

The splendid groves of mighty oak — 

The pretty vale where glaciers broke 
A path of beauty through the hills 
In ages past, and left a stream 
That with delight the soul it fills 
Like loveliness of happy dream. 

And brings a vision to the eyes 
That makes one think of paradise, — 

All in the Volga’s verdant dale. 

Where pretty nooks and scenes prevail 



josh’s old oakkn sawbuck 


22S 


For whether I played with the boys at a neighbor’s, 
Or with the wee girlies coquetted a while, 

I was called back, O sure, tew my onerous labors 
With the dull ax and saw on that hated woodpile, 
And the old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck, 
The X Y Z sawbuck that filled me with guile. 

Since those days of old I’ve toiled and I’ve wandered. 
Been in beautiful places and some that were drear. 
Have earned lots of cash and consid’able of it squan* 
dered, 

Dewrin’ my tame, uneventful career; 

Whether in woodland or out on the prairie. 

But whether up north or in warm southern clime. 
In the land of the canebrake or the buffalo berry, 

In a region of swamps or in lands dry as lime. 

The old oaken sawbuck, the rickety sawbuck. 

The X Y Z sawbuck, it was there every time. 

Yes, dear tew my heart are the days of my child- 
hood. 

As they sometimes saunter around in tew view. 
With their jam and preserves made of fruit from 
the wildwood — 

And the cookies and doughnuts my infancy knew — 
But my!— my! — oh my! can’t I ever forget it? 

The wretched old sawbuck, always out of repair, 
Still in fancy appears just where I first met it, 

And when in my dreams I have the nightmare, 

Old oaken sawbucks, old rickety sawbucks, 

Old X Y Z sawbucks loom up everywhere! 


224 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


JOSH’S TRICK DONKEY 

How jolly it is tew think of one’s childhood, 

And all the gay sports of those happy days, 

In barnyard and alley, on school ground in wildwood 
In all sorts of rompings and frolics and plays. 

But the jolliest thing on our farm was the donkey. 
Old Jack, whose ears were a foot long or more; 

They could stand up as straight as a liveried flunky, 
Or drop till the ends of them dragged on the 
floor — 

Our meek-eyed old donkey, our shaggy, gray donkey 
Our little pet donkey, whose bray was a roar. 

I’ve shot fire-crackers when they proved a fizzle, 
And you know what it is tew try them again 

Tew see if they aint even good for a sizzle. 

And they burst in your face, causing anguish 
and pain! 

I’ve eaten green apples, and also gooseberries, 
Sheep sorrel also, and chewed slippery elm, 

But none of these things, not even choke cherries. 
Could the ardor of youth so completely o’erwhelm 

As a kick from that donkey, for the feet of said 
donkey 

Could hoist a prize pumpkin clear out of the realm. 

I’ve hunted wildcats down in Bill Tomson’s timber 
Swam race after race in the old swimmin’ 
hole. 


josh’s trick donkey 


225 


And wrestled and jumped till my joints were as 
limber 

As a lariat or a humorist’s soul; 

But the liveliest times of which I remember, 

And I recollect plainly, notwithstanding time flies 
Were during the first frosty days in November, 
When ridin* Old Jack for the mere exercise— 

Old Jack our trick donkey, our somersault donkey, 
A donkey that was up to most any surprise. 

Old Jack he looked meek, with eyes of mild lustre. 
And a calm, kindly face, like an old patriarch, 
But he could wake up with a cyclonic bluster. 

Take aim with his heels and demolish the mark, 
And resume his composure in less than a minute. 
Munching away at the oats in his box; 

And in bucking and jumping no broncho was in it 
With Old Jack — not at all! and the steam- 
hammer knocks 

That came from that donkey, that little old donkey. 
That hatchet-toed donkey, would pulverize rocks 

Old Jack, in his day, was a strong, patient worker, . 

Did his full share and never was sick. 

And e’er and anon when hitched up with a shirker 
He e’er and anon was sure tew kick; 

But his Red Letter days were those in November, 
When the weather was crisp and the ground it 
was hard. 

When of our whole family I was the member 
He churned in his antics out in the barnyard; 


226 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Our stubborn old donkey, our dexterous donkey, 
Sometimes he would throw me as flat as a card. 

But Jack loved us all, from grandpa tew baby, 

And when one was gone he would be as home- 
sick 

As when parted long-time from his team-mate, Old 
Abie, 

And w^ould run tew meet us with movements 
so quick, 

Upon our return after absence protracted. 

And would not go away till he got a caress! 
Simple Old Jack! that’s the way that he acted — 

And, gents, jest the same, I am here tew confess,. 
I miss the affection of that humble old donkey. 

Old Jack, whose ears were a foot long or — less. 


THE SLEIGHMAN’S 


Hey 0! let us go through the falling snow. 
Where the downy flakes kiss the face. 

And the crystals, fly on the zephyrs high 
In a merry, cheery race. 

Till they fall on the ground without’n a sound. 
But handsomely “pave the way,” 

Aye making a road that will lighten the load 
For our team and our staunch bobsleigh. 


JOSH AND THE COUNTY FAIR 


227 


JOSH AND THE COUNTY 
EAIR 


There’s a tuggin’ at my heart strings, Bill, when 
Fair time comes around, 

And I jest sorty want tew be the first man on the 
ground, 

And tew see the folks a cornin’ jest a stragglin’ 
fust along, 

Till they thicken tew a pushin’, riishin’, eager happy 
throng; 

Then 1 like tew mingle with ’em as they rush from 
this tew that 

Tew find the things that seem to be the niost worth 
lookin’ at. 

And crowd about the things that they’re most 
interested in, 

Or argy ’bout the trottin’ bosses they expect will 
win. 

I like to loiter ’mong the things in Exhibition Hall— 

The posies, curiosities, the trinkets, one and all; 

I like tew see the fixin’s that the women folks have 
made, 

For though I look a little rough, I dew jest like 
tew wade 

Threw fancy work and pretty duds, like wifie loves 
tew make. 


228 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And tew see the handsome cookin’, the bread, the 
pies and cake, 

Also the appetizin’ jars of pickles, jam, preserves, 

And other things tew tease the taste and energize 
the nerves. 

I like tew see the veg’tables they bring tew win 
the prize. 

And the “Live Fair” has the very best that grows 
beneath the skies; 

The corn and grain and grasses, and the fruit and 
all sich things — 

Jest a wantin’ for tew see ’em makes me want tew 
mount on wings 

And fly over tew the fair ground, in the hours of 
early morn, 

When the pumpkins ara a shinin’ in the rows of 
wavin’ corn, 

And the straw piles are a layin’ up like heaps of 
burnished gold 

On the farms all through the country, bespeakin’ 
wealth untold. 

I like tew see exhibits from the pupils of the schools. 

The picturs, maps, and essays, and the work they do 
with tools. 

I like tew see the pet stock, the chix, the dux and 
geese, 

The fine bosses and slick cattle, and the sheep with 
heavy fleece. 


JOSH AND THE COUNTY FAIR 


229 


The hogs and sich, adult or young, of every breed 
of stock, 

And tew see ’em judged, while the expert gives an 
interestin’ talk. 

I like tew see the races, whether trot or run or 
pace, 

For boss flesh is my hobby, and nothin’ beats the 
grace 

Of thoroughbreds upon the track, a workin’ for the 
start, 

A pickin’ up their nimble feet, with elegance and art; 

Now off they go, whizzee! O ho! a scootip’ down 
the track. 

And purty soon a throwin’ dirt on the home stretch 
cornin’ back. 

Machinery exhibits of every sort and kind. 

Some hitched up tew power, all in a whirl and grind 

And the auto cars and keerages displayed in fine 
array, 

Fixt up attractive lookin’, jest take my eye— but say! 

Jest tew change the subject. Bill, now aint it nice to 
swing 

On the ‘'ocean wave,” or “shoot the schutes,” or 
some such sort of thing. 

And tew see the side shows, and the games, and 
vaudeville and sich. 

While rattlin’ the loose change in your pockets, 
feelin’ rich. 


230 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Imaginin’ you’re young again, with Mary by your 
side, 

When yew was coaxin’ of her for tew be your win- 
some bride. 

Say, Bill, one reason why I like the good old county 
fair. 

There’s where I first saw Nellie, with her glint of 
raven hair. 

And her rosy lips of beauty, and her cheeks jest like 
a peach. 

And her eyes, dark, big, luxurious, that jest most 
seemed tew reach 

Down in my soul, and take a holt, there with a grab 
hook grip, 

Like as if ’twas there for keeps, and never more tew 
slip. 

Since then the fairs that we’ve been tew air counted 
by the years. 

And we’ll count a heap more of ’em tew, if nothin’ 
interferes. 

I like tew see the street parade of merchants’ rigs 
and floats, 

I like tew hear the cornet band and keep step with 
its notes; 

I like tew be on hand tew greet the country school 
parade, 

And cheer the float my deestrict sends, and treat 
tew lemonade 




Thm's naught in ]xft like n little xuife, 
TOth lane in her hannie eges, 

Jbnil lane in her heart, her mag axrxl rhart 
Ularketl full of snnng skies 
^nrl gniet nanks anrl theerfnl leaks 
^ntl helgfnl sgingathies. 



MRS. HOMER P. BRANCH 

Then— here's ta the girl, the lining gearl. 
The partner af mg jag! 

Here's ta the dame, mg heart's fair flame. 
The mather af anr hag— 

TOag her dags he lang and her life a sang 
Till the Ttlaster sags ''^hag!" 


VILLAGE FRIENDSHIP 


231 


The teacher and the scholars tew, God bless ’em, 
every one, 

From this here minute right along till their days of 
life are done. 

A county fair, or any fair, if it is rightly run. 

Is mighty educational, along with all its fun. 

And I am out today a boostin’ for tew git the crowd 
tew go 

And tew take along exhibits and tew help put up a 
show 

That’ll be an inspiration and help tew each and all. 

So that the best fair on the list will be our fair this 
fall. 


VILLAGE FRIENDSHIP 

In a village street is the place to greet. 

In the fruitful summer time. 

Hearty friends of old that are good as gold. 
Ringing true as the church bells’ chimes. 
For the smalltown folks (notwithstanding jokes) 
Are the seers and the peers of all; 

They remember friends above dividends 
Or the lure of Fortune’s call. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


FARMER JONES AND THE 
COUNTRY EDITOR 


Wife and me — her name is Sarah — 
We live jest out on North Pa-rairie, 

On the purtiest quarter section 
That ever showed a green complexion 
When the skies of June was open 
And the winds of spring was lopin’ 

Over medder, glebe and field, 
Prophesym’ of the yield 
Soon tew come in plenitude 
Of succulent and gracious food; 

On the purtiest lay of land 
That ever showed a golden stand 
Of grain jest ripe and fit for cuttin’ — 
That farm, sir, it jest takes the mutton. 

We lived there fur twenty year, 

It was that or mighty near. 

Afore we paid any ’tention 
That is suitable fur mention 
’Bout takin’ of the hum newspaper; 

1 say, sir, ’twant the proper caper., 

But many folks dew jest the same, 
Borrowin’ papers is their game; 


FARMER JONES AND THE COUNTRY EDITOR 


No boosters, they, by the eternal! 

Them that borrows the local journal — 

I see if now plain as a mountain, 

And it goes without the countin'. 

Wife and me we started small. 

We didn’t have nothin’ at all. 

When we j’ned hands, so we fell tew skimpin’, 
And got along kindy lame and limpin’. 

And kindy got intew the habit 
When we could git a thing tew g^b it. 

Until by savin’ and by schemin’ 

We fetched tewgether a beseemin’ 

Comf’ table little livin’. 

Always gettin’, never givin’, 

’Cept tew send our boys tew college 
Fur tew brush ’em up in knowledge. 

And our gal, Almeda (bless ’er-heart). 

She was expensive from the start; 

But that don’t count, we must allow. 

Fur they was ours anyhow. 

We bought more land from time tew time. 
And I was feelin’ peert, sublime. 

And one day in divine September 
I thought I’d like tew be a member 
Of the board of county dads, sir. 

And thought the office could be had, sir, 

Fiir I felt jest* a little weighty 
As I’d jest bought another eighty. 


234 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


I didn’t like the way things run, 
Thought they could be better done, 
Thought things looked somewhat alarmin’ 
Fur poor fellers that was farmin’, 

Fur the taxes they was high, 

And the board did’t seem to try 
Tew reduce ’em much of any. " 

Well, I thought I’d be one tew many 
Fur the trickin’ country ring. 

So I took a little swing 
Out among^he politicians 
Airin’ of my new ambitions. 

Without a though of circumvention 
I ’nounced myself fer the convention. 

And in the paper I expected 
Tew see my good p’ints all reflected 
In a editorial lengthy. 

Praisin’ of me full and strengthy; 

But, by gum it made me mad 
Tew see what you dumb paper had: 

It jest said that “Jones the miser 
He wants tew run fur supervisor.” 

1 jumped in tew my one horse wagon, 
And yew bet, there was no laggin’ 

On the road. We went a pumpin’ 

I kept the old mare a jumpin’. 

And drove right to the printer’s place, 
Swearin’ that 1 would punch his face. 

There set the editor a writin’ — 

U-g m! it jest made me feel like fightin’! 


F'ARMER JONES AND THE COUNTRY EDITOR 235 


And says I: “Yew rank old carkas, 

Yew scalawag, you bleatin’ Barkis, 

What do yew mean by this here item? 

Yew don’t know beans, not when ye sight ’em”. 

He didn’t act as I expected. 

He jest looked cool, calm, and collected, 

And asked me perlitely tew be seated, 

Jest as if that I had greeted 

Him with good day, or howdydew, sir, . 

Instid of actin’ like a bruiser. 

But jest then in bounced a happy 
Bright young woman, who 2 isked the chappy 
In the sweetest elocution 
Fur a little contribution 
Fur a poor family in distress; 

1 thought of five cents, that or less, 

But, by Goliah’s big brass collar. 

That chap he handed out a dollar! 

More’n 1 had gi’n in all my life. 

Fact, sir, twas more’n me and wife 
Had both together gi’n the needy, 

We had been so tarnal greedy; 

I felt as small as new pertaters. 

Or little runty green termaters. 

Then came my neighbors. Smith and Johnson 
And my nephew, Billy Bronson, 

Tew pay up their subscription. 

And they most had a conniption 


286 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Tellin’ how they liked the journal, 

Say in’ it was jest supernal, 

Full of news, right tew the pi’nt. 

Complete and seldom out of ji’nt 

An old man, kind faced and grey headed. 
Whose winsome darter had jest been wedded, 
Called and thanked that Mr. Printer, — 

Well, sir, fact, sir, I can’t begin ter 
Tell how nice that old man talked 
As around the floor he walked. 

Thankin’ the scribbler good and fittin’ 

Fur the fine piece that he had written. 

Well, then a man came in with copy 
Fur an advertisement big and whoppy — 

Said he wanted half a page, 

And wanted said space tew engage 
Fur six months, and mebby more. 

Fur his double-breasted store; 

And he said he laid his risin’ 

In the world tew advertisin’ — 

Said he couldn’t thrive without it. 

And that was all there was about it. 

Then in rushed a flock of childr’n. 

Noisy, jolly and bewild’r’n’. 

With a big bouquet of roses, 

Smellin’ it with their little noses. 

And after the editor had ’risen 
To greet ’em, they told him it was his’n; 


PARMER JONES AND. THE COUNTRY EDITOR 


He said a kiss must be the pay, 
And they run laughin’ly away. 


Then he turned tew talk tew me, 

But in walked a commit-tee, 

Of merchants, bankers, money loaners. 
Laborin’ fellers and property owners, 
Tew git the editor tew agree 
Tew dew a little puffin’ (free) 

’Bout a new factory tew be started; 

And he j’ined in with a good hearted 
Ready will that was elatin’. 

And they went on without abatin’, 
Talkin’ up the shapes and sizes 
Of all sorts of enterprises. 

And all j’ined in the same conclusion 
That advertisin’ was no delusion; 

That the paper had helped the town, 

All around and up and down. 

They talked there fur half an hour 
’Bout the the newspaper and the power 
Of good that it was always doin’, 

Sayin’ that utter blank and ruin, 

Beyond all hopes fur tew repair, 

Would befall if it wan’t there. 

Next tew come in was a good lookin’ 
Sweet-faced woman, with a book in 
Her hand — it was a Bible — 

A little red-bound, thumb-worn Bible! 


238 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


She opened tew a blank leaf fair, 

With childish comments written there. 

He read, and tears came in his eyes, sir: 

“I love this book, it makes me wiser, 

I also love our local paper 

May be better”, signed ‘‘Lilly Draper”. 

Since writin’ that the child had died, 

Had gone over on th^ other side. 

Of the earthly ties now broken, 

The Editor had kindly spoken 
In the warmest hearted words, sir. 

That anybody ever heard, sir. 

And of her winsome girlhood graces, 

And of the love that interlaces 
Earthly hearts with those up yonder 
As a love e’er growin’ Jonder. 

He looked noble as a brother 

As he passed the book back to the mother. 

“Keep it for the kind words you said. 

And may God’s peace rest on your head”. 
The mother said in a way so tender — 
Well, sir, I felt fur my suspender. 

And tried to keep my eyes from blinkin’. 
Fur it got me into thinkin’ 

Of the one we laid away 

On a sad and crush in’ day 

Back when me and wife was younger; 

Yes, sir, I had felt the hunger 
Of a heart starved by the partin’ 

With a little un, and I felt like startin’ 
And a runnin’ crazed and wild. 


FARMER JONES AND THE COUNTRY EDITOR 


289 


When thoughts came back of that dear child, 

And this editor 1 hated 

Fur the words that he had stated 

’Bout me bein’ of a miser 

And a wantin’ tew run fur supervisor, 

This same man he wrote a notice, 

’Bout our little dead flower, Lotus. 

A kinder notice, one couldn’t ask it. 

Of how she looked when in the casket. 

Like a sleepin’ fay or a pearl settin’, 

And how the angels was a lettin’ 

Of her soul into the glories 
Told tew us in Bible stories. 

Such lovely words, how could he write ’em? 
We cut ’em out and saved the item. 

But never thanked the writer for it. 

And now I’d come in fur tew war it 
With' the editor fur sayin’ 

(In a way that looked like playin’) 

Less a’gin me than for ’er. 

And it struck me as might a horror 
On a dark and grewsome night 
How perhaps that he was right 
In callin’ of me a miser. 

Fur I begun to look that size, sir, 

When in a view of retrospection 
I beheld my own complection. 

Well, I began to feel uneasy. 

And, tew, I was jest a little wheezy 


240 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


With my asthma. The air was scant 
And it fairly made me pant 
In that office. So 1 stepped outside, 
Failin’ right out fur tew decide 
Tew give the editor his thrashin’, 

Tho’ I’d struck in so fierce and dashin’. 
Mebby ’twant the air but me, sir, 

But twas hotter’n bilin’ grease, sir. 

In that office. I was embarrassed. 

And my feelin’s they was harassed 
By thesnick’r’n of the typesetters; 

They was aiders and abettors 
To my chokin’ up in there; 

Seemed’s though they was aware 
Just how small and mean I felt 
At the way that I had dealt. 

Well, there was no use of naggin’. 
So I jumped into my wagon 
And drove home and said to Sarah: 

“Fur twenty year we haint took nary 
A one of our county papery — 

W e’re as stingy as two scrapers! 

Wife hadn’t yew better step in, 

When yew are down tew town ag’in, 
And subscribe and stop our borrowin’. 
Fur it’s gittin’ mighty harrowin’. 

Bein’ able fur tew take it. 

But a havin’ fur tew rake it 
Up among the neighbors. Curious 
How we’ve been so dumb penurious.” 


FARMER JONES AND THE COUNTRY EDITOR 


241 


Wife and we talked it over 
Clean from Limerick tew Dover, 

Talked out and in and talketl it clear, 

How that we’d been so mighty queer 
In bein’ so close in all our dealin’s, 

Regardle^ of other people’s feelin’s. 

We changed our course right there and then 
And thechildr’n said “Amen!” 

Fur they know our reputation , 

Fur bein’ stingy’s all creation. 

Since then we’ve done a heap of good, 
Givin’, whenever that we could, 

Donations to the worthy poor. 

And helpin’ every righteous doer. 

As needed help, when we was able. 

And we invited to our table 
Neighbors that we long had slighted, 

And many’s the wrong that we have righted; 
Folks quit callin’ of me a miser. 

And now I’m County Supervisor, 

And the editor he’s our frien’ sir. 

He is one of the best of men, sir. 

When you come tew know him well. 

Though at his work, goin’ pell mell, 

Hewin’ right straight close tew the line. 

He is apt to make yew whine 
When a big chip of truthful blame 
Flies and hits yew where yew’re lame. 


242 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Like others he may have his failin’s, 
But don’t yew try to give him whailin’s; 
If yew want to win him over, 

Turn him loose into the clover 
Of your good and kindly graces 
And yew will taste him in the places 
Where he is jest as sweet and meller, 
Fact, sir, as any other feller. 


FARMEE JONES ON SPRINa POETS 

These here poets that awaken 
Only when their wits are shaken 
By tine changes in the weather, 

They ain’t wuth a bluejay’s feather; 

For with all their fancy ravin’ 

’Bout the springtime’s good behavin’, 

’Bout the glory of the roses 
And the other early posies, 

’Bout the lovesick lovers roamin’ 

In the moonlight and the gloamin’ — 

And all sichlike gush and feelin’. 

Meant tew be extra appealin’ — 

They don’t touch ye — only try tew; 

They are not the bards tew tie tew! 

Give tew me a poet songster 
Whose big, honest heart belongs ter 
All the seasons, dry or rainy, 

And 1 want him sound and brainy. 


FARMER JONES ON SPRING POETS 


243 


Poets they ain’t wuth a splinter 
If they can’t sing of the winter, 

And the autumn and the summer, 

And that poet, he’s a hummer 
Who can take a day that’s dreary, 

Tone it up and make it cheery. 

Throw a dash o’ fun and laughter 
Intew it and the day after! 

Jest considers it a duty 
Drawin’ of the grace and beauty 
From the storm and cloudy weather, 

Cold snap, anything or whether 
Roses bloom or snow is Mowin’, 

Always cheerful, always crowin’. 

If a bard refines my daughter 
Jest as reg’lar poets ought ter; 

If a bard can be a mentor 
Tew my hired man or renter. 

Coax my boys tew love their mother, 
Daddy, sister, and each other; 

Make us with our lot contented 
’Stid o’ drivin’ us demented; 

Give us all an inspiration. 

Here and over all the nation; 

Lift us up with splendid teachin’. 

Deep and wide, yes, and far-reachin’. 
Knows a good thing when he sees it. 
Melts the heart and then don’t freeze it — 
He’s the poet whose spring writin’ 

I can read and take delight in. 


244 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


FARMER JON^ES 

0]S^ 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN 


Darter Lize and my son Richter 
They gin ter me a birthday picter; 

Twant of cherubs with wings a f lyin’, 

Nur of the summer flowers dyin’, 

Nur lovers in the orchard mopin’; 

Nur Injins threw the timber gropin’; 

Twant of the sunset soft and meller, 

Painted in red and blew and yeller; 

Twant of bosses, sheep nur cattle, 

Twant a shipwreck nur a battle, 

Nur loves, nur doves, nur none sich kinkles, 
But twas a face all full of wrinkles. 

I’ve never seen a face so humly. 

Yet it looks sedate aud comely; 

And it looks manly, somethin’ tew it 
Of good tew dew and grit tew dew it — 

A look of wholesouled good behavior, 

A tender look, like tew the Savior, 

In the sad lustre and the beauty 

Of his eyes, as if a duty 

Toward his feller men had called him 

That nerved his heart and yet appalled him; 


FARMER JONES ON ABRAHAM LINCOLN 


245 


Looks that at first are full of myst’ry, 

But when we read our nation’s hist’ry 
It’s easy nuff tew find the man, 

Of all of ’em the manliest man. 

Born a backwoods pioneer, 

Little in his life to cheer, 

Yet the heavens poured their light 
Intew his soul, until his sight 
Was keen and clear, — and his heart 
Was strong and honest from the start. 

Born with poverty tew tussle. 

From boyhood up he had tew rustle 
For his livin’ and his learnin’ 

All the time his big soul yearnin’ 

For a life of larger uses, 

Where he could lesson the abuses 
Of that dark and awful season 
When the nation lost its reason. 

Al’as goin’, never stoppin’. 

He was good at splittin’, chopping 
Plowin’, plantin’, reapin’, thrashin’. 

And though he wan’t so mighty dashin’. 
And didn’t make so fine a clearance 
In the. matter of appearance 
As did them with smoother graces. 

Or as had more handsome faces. 

Yet his learnin’ was immense. 

Both in law and common sense. 


246 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


And in politics and sicb 

He had knowledge that was rich. 

While of ordinary lore 
He had a never ending store! 

Could talk like a scowlin’ fury— 

Er an angel— to a jury; 

And showed he wasn’t hitched up tugless 
In them speeches with Steve Douglas. 

When for president elected 
'He acted jest as I expected, 

Riz with majesty and power 
Tew meet the needs of that dark hour 
When states broke out intew rebellion, 
And whether patriot or hellion 
Came before him, he was ready. 

Strong of heart, resourceful, steady. 
Sometimes towerin’ fierce, defiant, 

Like a mighty mental giant. 

Sometimes tender as a woman. 

Always soulful, kind and human. 

And amidst the big war’s rigors 
Writ the words that freed the niggers. 
Brought a land torn by dissension 
Intew ties of closer tension. 

Cemented intew bonds that hold us 
A people great, and forms that mold us 
Intew a fellowship whose glory 
Will ever live in song and story; 

And our country thus united. 

Them monster wrongs forever righted. 


FARMER JONES ON ABRAHAM LINCOLN 


247 


Is drawn about that great man’s heart 
In loyal bonds that ne’er will part, 

The stronger that a traitor hand, 

Just as peace dawned on our land, 

In frenzy took the biggest life, sir. 

That ever weathered any strife, sir. 

Glad the childr’n thought tew give- it — 
Yes, sir, yew have struck the rivet; 

I ain’t so jumpin’ mighty swift. 

But I somehow show my drift, — 

TWUZ THE PICTER OF ABE LINCOLN! 
And sir^ I am jest a thinkin’ 

That no man in this hull nation. 

No sir, nur in all creation. 

Come before nur cornin’ arter. 

Is half so high as Abe the Martyr 
In the gen’ral estimation. 


THE BABE AT PLAY 

To the parent there is nothing so poetically sweet 
As the pat-a-pat-patter of the baby’s little feet. 
Without it is his tiny laugh or merry prattle-cackle 
As he rolls about the floor or plays amid his tackle. 


248 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


JOSH AND CITY LIFE 


They may talk about the glory of the Garden of the 
Gods, 

Or the beauty of the valley whar the Rose of Sharon 
nods, 

Or the high and mighty Andes, or the sweepin’ 
Amazon, 

Or any freak of natur’ that the sun e’er shown 
upon. 

But fer me, the thrillin’ brilliance of electric lighted 
streets, 

And the tall and stately structures whar the hum of 
traffic greets 

The soul of tense ambition, and puts cheer intew 
the heart 

Of the man that loves the thrillin’ rush in office, 
store or mart! 

Fer me, the clatter of the cars, the locomotive’s 
scream, 

The hum and din of traffic, people passin’ in a stream. 

And all the charm of comnierce, fashion’s pomp and 
gleam and flash. 

And the ginger of good business, with its thrill and 
pep and dash. 

And the automobiles cornin’ and a goin’, also, tew. 

And all the world a seemin’ fer tew want tew dare 
and dew. 


PART V 

BOYHOOD RHYMES 

AND 

SCHOOL DAY JINGLES 




'■ 

, 4 



' (Sctnd old dags/ wjh?n air utEr? gaung! 


©nig sMJEEt snngs then vnErt sung 




SHE FLITTED PAST— LOVE IS A FLOWER 


SHE FLITTED PAST 

She flitted past! Her golden hair 
Floated above a face as fair 
As e’er was looked upon— 

I never thought sun could arise 
On such sweet lips and such blue eyes. 
Blit hold! for she is gone! 

Thus come our joys, as fleet they go, 
Again we’re face to face with woe; 

But cheer thy heart, old boy! 
There’s always beauty flitting by, 
With pretty lips and laughing eye, 

A world of love and joy. 

Enjoy the beauty that goes past. 

Don’t look for happy scenes to last, 
They’d spoil us bye and bye; 

If all the world were bright and gay. 
And if we always had our way. 

We’d sigh for tragedy. 


LOVE IS A FLOWER 

Love is a sweet and radiant flower 
That holds our senses for many an hour 
Enthralled within its bewitching power. 


2^2 


IOWA LE(^ENDS AND LYRICS 


A LOVER’S TRIBUTE 

Thy flaxen tresses bewitchingly move 
As if stirred by the touch of angels, Love, 

In this winter breeze, 

And the laughing glance of thy sweet blue eyes 
Is like a beam from the sunniest skies. 

A beauteous form, such as many deem 
Can only exist in a poet’s dream. 

Is thine, and the ease 
And the grace of thy every motion 
Demand and receive a rapt devotion. 

The bracing ozone of the frosty air, 

The softened gleam of the ice s cold glare, 

The stately brown trees, 

The spirited chime of our ringing skates. 

All speak of thee with the praise of the Fates. 

Thy dainty-gloved fingers, now in my hand, 
Thrill me like the touch of a Fairy’s wand, — 

O thou art divine! 

A soul as pure as the cherubim speaks 
In the living pink of thy seraph cheeks. 

Thy beauty is painted within my heart, 

A painting superior to art; 

There let it shine 

In a fondling light like the moon’s soft glow. 

To stay there fore’er as through life we go. 


A SUMMER IDYL— ONLY THY FACE 


258 


A SUMMER IDY^L 

Dipping, dipping, dipping, 

As we lightly row, 

Gaily through the water lipping 
Goes our boat like fairy tripping. 

Floating, floating, floating. 

Out upon the stream, . 

Go we, drift we, at our boating. 
Half a dozen pleasures noting. * 

Musing, musing, musing. 

Sit we restful ly. 

While our drowsy boat is cruising 
Listlessly without our choosing. 

Sighing, sighing, sighing, 
Talking carelessly. 

Loving looks our words belying, 
Cupid blindly o’er us flying. 

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming. 
Are sweetheart and I, 

While the sunlit skies are beaming 
On our love with joyous seeming. 


ONLY THY FACE 

Yes, — , thou art beautiful— that is, thy face is. 

But thou art sadly lacking in all other graces. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


THINE EYES 

Sweetest reveries and trances 
Throug^h my happy senses roll 
As I dwell within the glances 
Of thine eyes, 

And the light of love advances, 

And shines full upon my soul, 

While a thousand pleasant fancies 
Fall and rise. 

Ah the golden light embraces. 

With a passionate delight, 

All the scintillating graces 
Of thine eyes. 

And their beauty interlaces 

With strange visions, glad and bright, 
Of seraphim winging races 
In the skies. 


THE SELFISH SEER 

Did you ever hear of the selfish seer 

(Ah, one to be most roundly hated!) 
Who won’t do kindly deeds for fear 
He will not be appreciated? 


A WOODLAWN VISION 

Pasture Scene on the Cedar River near Janesville. Photo by Mueller of Waverly 

The Junetide goal of my musing soul is a woodlawn pasture fair, 

And the gentle kine, those friends of mine, are grazing in beauty there. 







A LOVER’S CONFESSION 


255 


A LOVER’S CONFESSION 

In thy hammock ’neath the shady elms, love, 

I saw thee lying, lulled to slumber still 
By fondling breeze and warm caress of Spring, 

Thy golden tresses coyly trembling down along 
Thy gently heaving bosom, as they sought, 

Or seemed to seek, to nestle near thy heart. 

Thy maiden form, in rounded elegance 
And graceful outlines, molded in relief 
From flowing dress of fashion beautiful. 

Is stamped forever on my heart of hearts; 

Thy gown of snowy whiteness, laces, aye 
And ribbons, all combined to beautify 
The shapeliness that more bewitching was 
That in thy sleep no arts of coquetry, 

No posing purposeful, were used to bring 
About the lovely picture thus revealed. 

Thy white attire floating languidly 

Upon the perfect contourage of thy 

Rare, shapely figure, would have surely caused 

The proudest spirit from Elisium 

To vanish in a cloud of jealousy. 

A goddess fair indeed thou looked that time. 

As dappled sunbeams, smiling, struggled through 
The leaf-embowered shadow-realm of thy 
Green canopy to mingle there astir 
Amid thy graces; and thy dimpled cheeks 


256 - IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

Were radiant with smiles, there as thou slept, — 
Rare smiles, so sweet an^ kind, they seemed to pour 
A gentle halo round thy head, and were 
Thy soul’s reflection, or its photograph. 

. There by thy side a moment then I stood, 

Awed to enraptured silence, drinking in 
With thirsty eye the draught of loveliness 
Presented, and I did not dare to move 
For fear that I should break the magic of 
Thv dreams; but, bolder growing, and almost 
Without the reckoning, I stooped and stole 
The joy of one fond kiss from thy sweet lips — 

Then quickly went into the shadow of 
The trees, and watched thee from their friendly 
depths. 

And passed the hour in pleasant reverie 
Till thou awoke, then came forthwith to claim 
The promenade thou promised yesterday. 


PICOTC JOY 

When we are out picnickin’, 

’Tis joy to hear 
The right good cheer 
Of knives and forks a clickin’ 
’Mongst pies and cakes and chicken. 


THE OLD OAK TREE— PINK ROSES 


25T 


THE OLD OAK TREE 

In the pasture the sheep-bells are tinkling, 

In the heavens the bright stars are twinkling, 
And o’er the grasses the night dew is sprinkling 
A moisture that makes us seek 
Shelter ’neath this old crumpled oak 
We have oft lingered under before. 

If this old tree could speak 
From the heart of its kindly leaf- cloak, 

What a store of excellent lore 
It could publish! Ten thousand folio pages 
Couldn’t hold the “love talk” it has heard thru the 
ages; 

Even ours. Miss , I brook. 

Would mEike a remarkable book. 


PI^^K ROSES 

O the woodland is balmy and shady. 

And awake with the singing of birds, 
As I stroll down the pathway with Sadie 
And list to her beautiful words. 

We are after a basket of prsies — 

That is, she is, and I came along; 

But the flowers 1 like are the roses 

That bloom on her cheeks. Am 1 wrong? 


258 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYKICS 


THE LOVER’S FAREWELL 

The moonbeams, wan and pale, 

Are flowing o’er the vale— 

How sad and lonesome is the spectral night! 

And you say that I must leave you, dear — 
Leave you for awhile, perhaps fore’ er. 

I will; but though rny wretched heart may blight. 
And wither up in hate 
Of all things I now love or ev’n esteem, 

Although a haggard fate 
May pierce my soul with its gaunt, chilling beam, 
Forever unrelenting, 

Yet through the gloom of sorrow-laden years. 

My thought, still unresenting 
Shall kindly turn to you. These tender tears 
You shed in my behalf at parting, 

As I shall see them in my dreams, starting 
From the eyes of every lovely vision, 

Will wrap my heart about with sympathies. 
And the demon-finger keen of cold derision 
Pointing e’er and uriforgetting at these ties 
Now severed, will melt and vanish for a time 
In love’s emotion, warm from Memory’s clime. 

You beg me go!— forget this shrine, 

' Or but remember it as Friendship’s bower! 
F'arewell, sweet love! I leave you, but devine 
You shall seen to me through every hour. 


‘SNOWED IN’ 


259 




“SNOWED IN” 

To see the cavorting 
Of the ‘'beautiful snow”, 

And to hear the snorting 
Of old Boreas, jo, 

As he sweeps to and fro; 

And to be on the road 

With the trains all too late for any connection; 

To sit, glum as a toad. 

At stations lonely, with nothing but reflection 

For company, and that of the very worst kind. 

Is an inglorious state of things, don’t you mind? 

But I’m bound to get through 
If it takes a fortnight. 

And I’ll not say adieu 
To the west— by my sight! — 

Till I see a cute wight! 

Miss , ’tis “thee” I’ll see. 

In your presence there’s no such thing as dejection; 

I’m always full of glee 

When with you whatever the weather’s complexion; 

But this slow-poke way of getting along’s enough, 

By Jove! to make a fellow feel terribly tough. 


GLORIES m VIEW 

The glories of the past are crude and primal to 
The glories now around us — glories now in view. 


260 IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 

TO A TEAR 

Ah, thou emblem of grief, 

Sign of holy devotion, 

Sign of heart’s tenderness, 

And of the soul’s emotion, 

0 fall not for me! 

One drop! yet greater far 

Than the grandest of ocean 
Billows is the deep grief-swell 
Of thy tremulous motion 

When dropt from the e’e. 

Thy glist’ning lustres, as thou 

Dwell’st a-tremble on the cheek 
Of unspeakable sorrow. 

More touching are than words — speak 
Wilder of unrest. 

One drop! but richest of gems, 

Of wealth too truly unknown. 

Art thou, a priceless treasure. 

The soul of a pleasure flown 
From a hapless breast. 


THE HEARTS OF MEIS^ ARE BRAVER 

The hearts of men are braver, in this day. 

Than in the knightly age of frequent armed affray. 


THE KNOCKER— THE WHISPERER 


261 


THE KNOCKER 

• 

Bury the ‘"knocker” out in the woods, in a g^reat 
big hole in the ground, 

Where the bumblebee bumbles and the woodpecker 
pecks and the straddlebug straddles around; 
No use for the “knocker”, you can’t get him to 
boost. 

He’s too impractical, stingy or dead. 

So bundle him off to the bumblebee’s roost 
And bury him heels and head. 

And cover him over with a great big stone, 
Then hurry away and leave him alone 
And let him hammer and pound and knock 
Till the judgment day on that great big rock. 


THE WHISPERERS 

. Like the lull of far off music 
Are Josie’s whispers low. 

And dulcet sounds come from her lips. 
And charming accents flow. 

But Hattie’s rasping whispers, my! 

They grind out through her teeth, 
Like pigs that scratch against the fence 
Then squeeze through underneath, 


262 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


TO A FRIEND 

% 

I wish; 

That happiness may ever be thy lot, 

That life’s pathway may seem to thee a bright 
And blossoming meander of delight; 

That thou mayest ne’er do aught to cloud thy 
name, 

That thou mayest ne’er be victim of a plot 
Or snare; nor be the heir to stain or blot 
Upon thy fair and estimable fame; 

That thousands may applaud thee and esteem 
The pure rays of nobleness that beam 
So brightly from thy eye through fleeting time, 

And making thee as man and friend sublime; 

That thou mayest love all that love thee truly — hand 
In hand, as ’twere, walk with them down life's 
winding shore, 

Through vale and shady wood, and o’er the sunny 
sand. 

Or where the songbirds charm, or where the 
vultures soar. 


OlSr THE SQUARE 

If I’m as square as four-by-four, 
What’s the use of asking more? 






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PHANTASMA INFERNO 


268 


PHANTASMA INFERNO 

Down a hot and dingy valley 
Turbulantly flows a river, 

On whose banks there frantically 
Roaming, wofully aquiver, 

Lingers a tumultuous band 

E’er treading up and down the strand — 

A restless, wild-eyed, glaring gang. 
Shrieking in concert evermore 
Accompaniments to the clang 
Of waves that beat against the shore;— 
And pitifully moan and wail 
And t^ll a crazed and mumbled tale 
Of the pains, the pangs, and the vast 
Torments they endure, while aghast 
They swelter in the scorching gale. 

Phantoms they! the stygian souls 
Of mortals ambitious who died 
The slaves of vanity and pride — 

Souls more infernal than the ghouls 
That feed with greediness dread 
On the corses of the dead — 

Souls of mortal hypocrites who 
When on earth made much ado 
Of righteousness and virtue, stood 
As perfect models of the good. 

Prayed long and loud in public place 
With upturned eye and beaming face; 


264 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


But beneath which, low-seethiner, lay 
A life of vice that buisted forth 
In foul and odious array 
At last and fiercely swept away 
Their every vestiment of worth. 

Their character, by mean deceit, 

Though maudlin, vicious, mean and lo.w, 
Upheld so as to seem replete 
With actions bright with holy glow. 

Came forth at last so that the world 
Could see their vicious lives unfurled 
And shudder as their souls were hurled 
Down at the demon’s feet. 

Remorse eternal is their doom, . ^ 

Their dwelling place the morbid gloom 
That spreads its heated vapors o’er 
Dark Hades everlasting roar. 

They sob and shriek and madly sigh. 

And linger ’neath that canopy. 

The sullen dread-cloud of distress. 

And rave in wild unhappiness; 

They linger there upon the strand 

And watch the stream’s hot eddies whirl 
Into many a vortex-curl 
While their parched mouths and tongues 
expand. 

And torturously crack and dry 
In burning fever, and their hands 
They wring in frenzy, and they cry. 

And cringe, and fiercely tramp the sands. 


THE NIGHTMARE 


THE NIGHTMAHE 

I lay me down in morbid sleep, 

While the spirits of the night, 

Out upon their somber flight. 

Their silent, gloomy watches keep. 

I pass into a murky mist. 

And without power to resist 
Float on through dismal routs. 

Now having fears and doubts. 

I am afflicated with a freezing dread. 

And heaviness seems resting o’er my head. 

A stifling universal cyclone flings 
Abroad a craze of ugly, unlike things. 

Down a steep hill I am impelled, 

And from destruction am withheld 
By the same power that with sullen force 
Hurries me onward in my course. 

The ground which I traversed is split 
With yawning gulfs, and as I flit. 

And leap and dodge along, I see 
Wild eyes peer upward at me furtively. 
Wistfully and fiercefully from these dark holes. 
Which seem to be a hell of wretched souls.* 

Mighty clouds and a soaring sound 
Rush in upon the dull profound. 


2«6 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


I stand upon the heated rim 
Of a lake of lashing fire, 

Where loathsome reptiles, living, swim. 

With hideous writhiiigs dire. 

White skeletons are dancing in 
The air and rattling their loose bones 
In fierce, fantastic glee, the din 
Made more horrible by the moans 
Of myriads of ghastly shapes 
That rise and fall upon the gale, 

Struggling to catch a monster, pale. 

That constantly their grasp escapes, 

And seem forever to flee 
Toward a fast receeding sea, 

The dizzy earth is rent asunder 
By a blast of deafening thunder, 

And numbed by cold paralysis 
I’m hurled into a dark abyss. 

Where I seem to float for years 
In somnolent atmospheres. 

A hideous beast, with broad-flapping wings 
And voice that with satanic fury rings. 

Grasps me within his black, repulsive arms, 
And fills my confused soul with weird alarms. 
The beast now roars that he doth devour 
All things that come within'his power. 

His ugly, mighty jaws expand, 

My face by his foul breath is fanned, 


THE NIGHTMARE 


2B7 


And sharp as daggers drawn from sheath 
Gleam his great and swordlike teeth. 

Wildly 1 look abroad 
And gasp a prayer to God. 

A silver light breaks in upon the scene, 
The monster in bewildered rage grows green, 
Now pale, now vanishes, entire, 

In a flame of consuming fire. 

All terror ceases now, 

I feel upon my brow 
The kiss of a cool breeze; 

I rub my eyes, and sneeze, 

And yawn, and stretch, and look around, 

And nothing see here to confound. 

I guess from present looks 
I’ve been among the spooks 
In the Land of Nod, for sure as sight, 

Tis morning! I’ve been dreaming over night! 


THE BACHELOR’S DELIGHT 

Of all the boons that Providence e’er deigned to bless 
Us with, none to the stricken bachelor e’er seems 
So great as a coy maiden’s sweetly spoken “yes,” — 
It fills his erst blank soul with glorious dreams. 


268 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


SERAPHINE VISITORS 

Silently on wings of ether 

In my dreams there come to me 
Visions of unearthly beauty 
That caress me lovingly; 

And they float, these lovely shadows, 
O’er my curtained couch all night, 
Each dispensing sweet enchantment, 

Joy benign and calm delight. 

Vestures of transparent whiteness 
Wave about their lustral forms, 
Glist’ning softly in the moonbeams. 
Kissed by airs in tender storms; 

And their silver-gleaming tresses. 

As they move in silent flight. 

Mildly light the darkness round them. 
Lending beauty to the night. 

They’re the spirits of the loved ones 
Who have passed to homes divine. 

In the second life’s Great Kingdom. 

Within Heaven’s borderline; 

But at night in bands all joyous 
Flock they to the mortal one 
Whom of all earth they loved the most. 
Whom of earth now love alone. 


ODE TO A COYOTE 


2t>9 

Bright they come on Beulah’s odors» 

Floating- on the breath of low. 

Sweet music, mild,' melodious, 

And their Fairy faces glow — 

Glow with happiest expression! — 

As they hover o’er my bed^ 

And their lips in kisses touch me 
As they nestle round my head. 


ODE TO A COYOTE 

Oh, thou glum old gaunt coyote. 

With quiet eyes, so meek, devout. 

Thy reticent, coy ways, denote 
The quaint suavity of a lout, 

As on the twilight thou dost gloat! 

Oh, how I long to wipe thee out! — 

To take thy weird and meagre form 
And burl it ’gainst the coming storm! . 

Sour thou art and melancholly. 

Yelping a cross ’twixt howl and sneer. 
Looking measley, yea, and drolly, 

( As thy own ghost were very near 
Haunting thee amid thy folly!) 

Skulking through the grass with fear. 
As if thy heart were filled with hate 
And paunch of food were desolate. 


270 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


A TREASURE SHE 

You stroll by the lapping river, 
With sweetheart by your side; 
Ah, your heart is all a quiver. 

For pretty Byrl, 

The laughing girl. 

Has promised to be your bride. 

And she’ll keep the promise true; 

Both heart and hand she gave. 
To be kept and lOved by you; 

A treasure she 
And you should be 
Her master, and her slave. 


THE DREAM-DHIETI^^^G WALTZ 

In the waltz, sweet waltz! we move in a trance 
Of enchanting delight, 

Whirling, merrily dight, 

’Neath the clear and bright 
Gleam of the fairy like lamps overhead — 

Gleam of the soft-shining lamps overhead! — 

Aye, at every well 
Of the orchestra’s swell. 

The charming strains impel 
Us through the bewitching, dream-drifting waltz! 


THE WALTZ, ETC, 


271 


THE WALTZ 

Trip lightly, Lila, lightly now, 

See the the merry dancers gliding, 
Whirling, airily as Fairies, 

Sweetly to the airs confiding 
All their thoughts in pleasant mazes. 
Thrilled with pleasure, undeciding 
On they go nor dream of sorrow, 
Never brooding o’er, nor chiding, 
Past displeasures — so, dearest, let us 
Waltz now to the music’s guiding. 


SUCH IS LIFE 

With eyes that melt and can be felt 
Brown-eyed Sue she looks at you; 
With eyes that beam with sunny gleam 
Grey-eyed Mary’s looks are true; 
With eyes that snap at a lucky chap. 
Black-eyed Minnie smiles with pride; 
Sweet Katie’s eyes are from the skies, 
Bilue and true — but she’s Billy’s bride! 


HOOD WHElSr COMBIlSrED 

A soft heart is a good thing when joined with a 
good sound head, 

But otherwise it might as well be comatose or dead. 


272 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


THE SPIRIT BRIDE^ 

\ 

Somebody comes in the gloom of night, 

Through the listless haze and the dark. 
Somebody comes like a fairy wight *, 

Through the stygian shades — and hark: 

On the winds a dream of music floats 
Like seraphine far away strains. 

And loving sighs are borne in the notes 
Through the hallowed calm that reigns. 

’Tis a song of angels floating down 

From the realm of beauty and bliss, — 

A song of the seas where sorrows drown. 

Loosed from care by the joy-nymph’s kiss, — 

A song that tells me in whispered breath 
That a form in that angel throng. 

Mortally phrted from me by death 

Will be with me the whole night long. 


*The above poem was inspired by a newspaper account of 
a young man who’s bride was stricken with death the first day 
of their wedded life. The young man was for the time being 
mentally unbalanced by the sad event, and for some months 
afterward declared that he received visits from the spirit of his 
young wife, and was often, in the still hours of the night, 
heard speaking in. language of endearment to the lovely shadow 
he fancied pi-esent. 


THE SPIRIT BRIDE 


2 

O my heart is filled with love untold, 

And with joy that others know not, 

As my angel to my breast 1 hold 
Every night in my humble cot. 

Sweet spirit! she comes with a step as light 
As the heaving of virtue’s breast, 

And her heart is warm and her eyes are bright 
And she lulls me to calm, sweet rest. 

She moves about in a cloud of balm, 

And her face it is fond and fair; 

To my soul she sings a gentle pslam 
As sweet as the tender est prayer. 

\ 

In her fond caress I sleep and dream. 

Aye, dream of the times long ago. 

When naught in Heaven on high could seem 
So benign as our lives below. 

But morning comes with its craze and its care. 
Its passion, its work and its strife, 

All the illSs^that I alone must bear 
Through the allotted time of life. 

Then she wafts back to the glowing strand, 

O’er the paradise-river wide. 

To the Valleys of the Better Land — 

She’s the Angel of Light, my Bride! 


4 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


MAX’S A FOOL 

I maintain, as a rule 
Man’s a fool; 

Always in a stew and fret — 

When it’s dry he wants it wet, 
When it’s wet he wants it dry. 
Setting up a big ki-yi; 

When it’s cool he wants it hot, 
When it’s hot he wants it cool, 
Always wanting what it is not! 

1 maintain, as a rule 
Man’s a fooL 


FOUR CHARMS 
A pretty face. 

Good taste, a perfect form, a pure heart; — 

Oh, would to grace 

That these four charms were never found apart! 


THE BLIZZARD 

Boreas, that wild old wizard, 
Has sent down another blizzard. 
And the snow is on a tear 
In the bosom of the air. 


poksy’s golden age 


^75 


POESY’S GOLDEY AGE 

Say not 0 soul that in this day, material, fast. 

The Muse lies prostrate in the clay of ages past, 

But gather inspiration from the pulsing throng 
To sing with swelling, bounding heart, a sweeter 
song. 

The bards of old were better than their day. 

Or whether mood was dark, or wild, or gay, 

Or whether raptures of the patriot heart 
Or sweetheart’s yearning caused their lips to part 
In song, they sang for future ages— yea — 

For future fame they sang each roundelay; 

But o’ermuch sang of lewdness, myth and war, 
O’ermuch of what their readers now abhor. 

The golden age of poesy is yet to come! 

We stand within the dawn. Our poets are not dumb! 
With parted. lips and shining eyes e’en now they sing 
Of glories that the future days are sure to bring. 
Yea, more! They sing of home and native land. 
And righteous principle, and strong demand 
For manhood pure, and when they tune the lyre 
To sing of romance and of heart’s desire. 

It is a song refined, appealing to 
Uplifting sentiments, devotion true. 

r re’s health unto the poet of today! 

I to his strong, heart-building, tuneful lay! 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


‘476 


SONG OF 

THE ARABIAN PRINCE 

What is it that waketh my soul 
As from a calm sleep, 

To tremble in ecstasy, 

To dance in rapture. 

To sing with gladness? 

It is Zaada, my love! 

Mine eyes melt in tenderness 
As they dwell upon thy comeliness; 
Flowers spontaneously grow 
Where’er thy footfalls touch; 

My heart drowns in smothering rapture 
When I press thee to my heart, 

0 dream of glorious beauty! 

Allah drench the grasses with perfumery 
Where thou must walk, my love! 

And carpet the dull earth 

With dust of gold and sparkling jewels. 

1 am riding alone in the desert; — 

0 the parching thirst. 

The hot, driving winds, 

The scorched sands, the desolation! 

A vast stretch of sterile plain! 

How many hath here perished of famine, 
Aye, miserably died of thirst. 


SONG OF THE ARABIAN PRINCE 277 

0 Allah, thou hast made 
The children of men strong, 

And given unto them good camels, 

Beasts of burden that endure thirst, 

Else the desert would be the grave 
Of thousands and tens of thousands! 

God is great! 

This loneliness is sore to the heart. 

Yet hath a grandeur 

That leaveth its mark on the soul. 

For in the absence of His great blessings 
Our thoughts dwell on the Almighty. 

1 come to a fountain shaded with palms 
In the midst of the desert. 

O grateful oasis! 

Here thousands thank Allah 
For the cool water. 

The soothing shade. 

Blissful rest from the blistering sands. 

As a fountain in the desert 

Is my love among the maids of Islam. 

0 the air is blandly sweet. 

Like nectar of enchanted herbs. 

As my eyes dwell on my love. 

The fair proportions of her angel form 

Delight my soul 

And make me revel deliciously 

In dreams of beauty. 



27H 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Heedful of naught but the presence 
Of my lov-e. 

Her fingers are of the pure white 
Described in crystal ices of the north, 
But their touch is pleasant ^ 

As the breath of summer winds. 

Her feet, devoid of shoe or sandal, 
Placed within a wreath of roses white. 
Would be in contrast just as fair 
As lilies of the flowing Nile 
Worn on Egyptian maiden’s 
Swarthy brow. 

My journey ’cross the sunburned sands 
Is short. 

For my thoughts dwell on my love. 

0 she is a jewel of Araby! 

Her eyes are like the stars 
That light the night 
From out the firmament. 

Among the fairest she is the lily is. 

The pearl. 

Her voice is like 

The low sweet chime of bells 

That comes from far away 

On the dewy airs of early morn. 

1 went up into the mountains to guard 
The caravans. We met the Bedouins 
And they fought us to despoil us 

Of our riches. 


SONG OF THE ARABIAN PRINCE 


We beat them off, but in my side 

A robber’s spear 

Most savagely was thrust. 

The blood gushed forth. 

And my life, 

Like a lamp faint from lack of oil. 

Went nearly out. 

Yea, I was upon the edge of life. 

With small support. 

But with her witching grace my love 
Warmed me back to life with her warmth. 
Nursed me with soothing medicines. 

The balm of comfort and with angel care. 
My .wound she washed with oils. 

With dove’s flesh nourished me. 

My fevered lips she cooled 
With tonic-draughts of nectar. 

O my love! 

Thy witching touch thrilled me. 

Thy warm breath 
Filled me with new life. 

Heaven bestow its riches on thy soul! 

Thy brow shineth like the maiden moon. 
Thy neck is like a skilled carving 
Wonderful in animate ivory. 

Join me, 0 my love, Zaada! 

We will ever dwell together 
In an atmosphere 
Of rainbows and perfume. 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


Like a sunbeam 

Dancing in the sparkling dew 

Of early morning is my love, 

Bright to behold, and fresh in beauty. 
Thou art a dream of joy, Zaada, 

Floating e’er through clouds of balm 

That envelop me 

With dreamy, rapt infatuations. 

When thou art nigh. 

I walk by the quiet sea 
In the hush of the morning. 

I look upon the blue waters, 

The white foam, the shifting fog. 

I see the deep gold of the rising sun 
Flash out of the mighty east. 

How beautiful is the rising sun! 

Its glorious light 

Spreads out over the bosom 

Of the sea in a dream of dainty colors. 

1 dream of my love 

As 1 stroll along the sands. 

My love is rich in beauty. 

In her heritage of comeliness; 

The red rose blooms within her lips. 

So rare and delicate yet so distinct a hue 
As to outrival the fairest flower 
Of the daybreak’s choicest bloom. 

O my love stands within the door 
Of her silken tent! 


SONG OF THE ARABIAN PRINCE 


2H1 


A supple form she hath, 

Perfect in every part, molded in health, 
Fascinating to look upon. 

0 yea, I look, and my heart swoons 
With utter ecstasy of love! 

Her breast heaves. 

Like the swell of gentle waves, 

Like the movement of a quiet pool 
When agitated by a spring beneath. 
Bright houris fashioned her form 
And placed a pleasing light 
Within her eyes 
Ere she was born; 

Allah beamed a gracious smile 

From out his throne 

Upon her birth and blessed her. 

And the influences of Heaven 
Lent her special grace through childhood. 
These happy chances left their reflex 
In her perfect individuality. 

She holdeth me in a trance of joy. 

1 greet my love! 

Embrace me now, Zaada! 

Thine arms possess supernal grace, 

Thy breast a witching charm. 

I press thee now to my heart! 

0 who hath ever in his speech 
Described the intense joy of love? 

Mine eyes rest on thy hand; 

Such fingers could command 

1 jc homage of the universe. 


282 IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS \ 

Thy teeth are of the undiscovered pearls 
Of ocean, richer white, and purer gems 
Than the transparent ivory 
That girts the comely ankle 
Of the Peri queen. j 

0 thy voice beguileth me to wander 
Through the verdant valleys, 

To look upon the lilies. 

To listen to the tuneful harps 
Of the daughters of music. 

To breathe the odors of vineyards. 

To watch the sun break from the clouds 
And shine upon the hills! 

My love, thou art the essence of my soul. 


THE WOLF 

Full meanly doest thou snarl and snap. 
And show thy teeth, thou varmint gaunt; 
x\h, wouldst thou like to eat a chap 
Like me? Away, mad cur, avaunt! 

But wait! I have some buckshot here, 
And three will chamber in my gun! 

I’ll quickly load! Bu^, ah— oh dear! 

Thou seem’st to think it time to run. 


THE SCHOOL BULLY 


283 ■ 


THE SCHOOL BULLY 

John is the bully of our school, 

His fist is like a rock; 

But mentallj^ John he’s a fool, — 

To prove it, hear him talk. 

He is a coward of the wor.st. 

At ghosts he takes affright; 

To prove it, ask him if he durst 
To meet you late at night — 

To meet you down in Dead Man’s Run 
When wolves and spooks are out. 

Just for to have a little fun 
And chase the ghosts about. 

But he delights to slam and cuff 

-And knock the kids around. 

And brag and bluster in a rough 
And scary sort of sound. 

Yes, John’s the bully of our school, 
O’er boys not quite bis size; 

To fight big boys is not his rule, — 

He hates to have “black eyes.’’ 



Our books and work aside we fling. 
Wild geese and ducks are on the wing. 


284 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL 

Joe, be will have to mind, this term, 

The teacher has red hair. 

And if her stick dont make him squirm 
SheTl whale him with her chair. 

Her scowl is fierce, she cannot smile, 

She’s sour as a pickle; 

She’s slouchy, too, she’s out of style. 

And “hamely, too, ower mickle”. 

And did you ever see such eyes? 

They’re sharp as railroad spikes; 

She tries to look most wondrous wise — 
Did you ever see the likes? 

She’s got two ferules on her desk, 

A great big strap inside; 

She won’t find it much of a task 
To tan poor Joey’s hide. 

Yes, Joe will sure get his deserts. 

She’ll trim him every day; 

He’ll beller loudly when it hurts. 

And then weTl all feel gay. 


I’d like to smash the villain’s snoot, 

The wretch that conjured up cube root. 


LAST DAY OF SCHOOL 


28 


LAST DAY OF SCHOOL 

Angels they have golden hair, 

But angels are not half so fair 
As teacher; 

We hated her at first, but now 
We love her dearly, I allow, 

And when we try to say good-bye. 

All but the big boys have to cry. 

We bought a ring to give to her 
And picked out Joe to make a talk, 

But Joe broke down, choked up, as ’twere 
Blushed red, then turned as pale as chalk 
And only said (we scarce could hear) 

'‘Here’s sump’n fer ye, teacher dear.” 

Her hair is golden, is not red, 

I like her eyes, I’ve always said; 

She’s good and true and awful kind 
And don’t thrash one to make him mind. 

We’ll miss her, yes, like everything — 

I’m glad I helped to buy the ring 
For teacher. 

YOUTHFUL ASSUHAlSrCE 

Wilt thou be mine, radiant girl? 0 tell! 

Thus I beseech, exhort and pray— well, well,— 
I know thou art mine, 

For the dream of a soul-delighting smile 
Lingers in the rose of thy lips the while. 


286 


IOWA LEGENDS AND LYRICS 


THE BOY TRAPPER 

Early, ere the break of day, 

The muskrat trapper hies away, 

To see his traps and get the game 
Before the crows eat up the same. 

Most every lad has felt the call 
To hunt and trap in early fall; 
Somehow this pastime sure appeals 
To a wildness in him that he feels. 

And sleepy in the mornings he 
All other times is sure to be, . 

But when his traps are out and set. 
He’s early up and out, you bet! 


THE HOME TEAM WINS 4-TO-O 

Play ball! That’s the call that makes a lad’s blood 
tingle, 

Jack to bat! How’s that! as with the fans we 
mingle? 

Home team! They're the cream! How they trim 
the visitors! 

Four-to-nought! That’s what! Tell it to inquisitors. 








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